The ETIA Files: Across Time And Space
by ToryTigress92
Summary: E.T.I.A Agent and Royal Navy Commander Louisa Dunham is sent back to 1914 to retrieve Captain Nicholls after his apparent 'death', as a personal favour to some old friends. She was meant to rescue him, she wasn't supposed to fall in love with him. Nicholls/OFC. First story of a four part series.
1. Louisa

The E. T. I. A Files: Across Time And Space

**A/N: All that I ask is that you suspend disbelief. It is somewhat necessary for this series ;D**

* * *

_Cranville House, 7__th__ February, 2000_

The hallway outside the CO's office was cold and grey, as Commander Louisa Dunham continued her solitary march up and down its length.

The light gleamed off of her dark red hair, unruly curls pulled back into a tight regulation bun. Her boots, polished to a mirror shine, beat a path into the ruthlessly scrubbed floors beneath her feet.

The house in which Louisa paced had once been a stately home until a covert arm of Her Majesty's Forces took it for their own use. It still retained some of its former grandeur, as she paused for a moment to look out of the window, out over the manicured green lawns, and beyond, to the barbed wire fencing and the Royal Marines currently on security detail.

"Commander Dunham," a voice called, pulling the young officer from her thoughts as she turned to him, a young Sergeant in Army uniform, his gaze respectfully lowered from hers. "General Lowe and Captain Stewart will see you now."

With a short nod, she stepped inside, the door closing silently behind her.

The office was once a grand parlour, and remnants of the house's former status still clung, in the gilded cornices of the ceiling, and the plush carpet beneath her boots. Directly in front her stood a large antique, mahogany desk, the table legs fashioned into taloned feet. The walls were plain except for a single portrait of Her Majesty the Queen, hanging up above a pinned, pressed Union Flag.

Louisa swore she could feel the stern Queen's gaze watching her as she entered the room.

Directly in front of the portrait, behind the desk, sat her superior officer.

"You understand, Commander Dunham, the parameters of this assignment?" General Lowe, a man in his early fifties, black hair flecked with grey, his formerly strong body just starting to go to paunch in his perfectly tailored Army uniform, leaned forward on his desk, his hands clasped on the cluttered surface in front of him.

"Yes sir," she replied softly, aware of the careful gaze of the only other man in the room. The man who had recruited her into E. T. I. A from the Royal Navy only a year ago.

The Emergency Temporal Intelligence Agency was formed years before when some government scientists, as part of a government iniative which proved successful, made a monumental breakthrough in time travel.

Or only successful in that it opened up another route for war to be waged in the 20th century, and now the 21st century.

It was Louisa's job, as one of a select few, to travel back in time whenever they detected a flux in the timeline, and stop it. E. T. I. A was also tasked with the retrieval and relocation of individuals, who after their apparent 'deaths', were seen as worthy of a second chance at life.

Louisa had been waiting for this assignment since she joined E. T. I. A one year ago.

* * *

"You've done good work in the year you've been with us, Commander Dunham," Lowe continued, looking through what was obviously her personnel file. "You've successfully completed assignments in 1066, 1537, and 1840. You have been commended by several of your commanding officers, both within E. T. I. A. and during your time in Her Majesty's Royal Navy. How do you feel about going back to 1914?"

"I'm looking forward to it, Sir," she replied carefully, not allowing any pleasure at the General's praise to show on her face.

"Very well," the General nodded to the young officer stood beside him, who handed Louisa a manila folder. She flicked it open to reveal a grainy sepia shot, aged and only yellowing further, of a young cavalry officer, his face unsmiling and stern, yet there seemed to be a genial twinkle in his eyes that not even Edwardian strictures about the proper way to be photographed could hide. He was handsome, light-haired, although from the shot she couldn't be sure if he was blonde. Her heart skipped a beat as she recognised the man within the photo.

At last.

"Captain Stewart, if you please," General Lowe gestured to the younger man, tall, thin and lanky, with dark blonde hair that had been rigidly tamed within a military haircut. Unlike the General he was clothed in the same black and gold uniform as Louisa, that of her Majesty's Royal Navy.

"Your assigned retrieval is Captain James Nicholls, formerly of the North Somerset Yeomanry. Time and place of death: Quievrechain, France, 26th September 1914." the young captain began, his piercing blue eyes meeting hers as she listened patiently.

She had heard all of this before. Ever since she had joined E.T.I.A and even before that as a child, she had grown up with the story of Captain James Nicholls.

"Your assignment is simple: retrieval and relocation. We will send you back two months before his regiment was shipped out, so you may build a rapport with him, then you will follow him to France and get him out after he is shot down in the field."

"You must not be seen, Commander Dunham," General Lowe interrupted firmly, his cool eyes raking her form. "The retrieval must be quick and invisible. The timeline cannot be disrupted."

"I understand, sir," she replied, in a neutral tone. God forbid she not know what she was doing after twelve months on the job.

"Very well," Lowe leaned back in his chair, a gruff twinkle replacing his sternness. "I hope you're ready for corsets and petticoats, Commander."

"Already looking forward to it, Sir," she rolled her eyes, smiling slightly as she stood, replaced her cap, saluted and then shook the General's hand.

"Good luck, Commander," he replied. "You going to need it."

* * *

Captain Stewart followed her out of the CO's office, the manila folder with Nicholl's picture grasped tightly in one hand.

"Well, you've got it," the captain smiled as the pair walked briskly down the corridor. "Nervous?"

"What do you think, Jack?" she breathed, her grip tightening on the folder until they turned white. "I've been waiting for this day since you dragged me kicking and screaming into E. T. I. A."

He chucked. "I think you gave as good as you got," he retorted good-naturedly. "You leave in two hours. Wardrobe, Tech and the History boys are waiting to get you ready and brief you on everything you need to know."

"Ugh," Louisa sighed. "The only thing I hate about this job is going back to times when women are still treated like porcelain dolls."

"It's only for a few months," Jack replied soothingly. "You'll be fine."

"Says you," she grumbled. "You've never had to wear a corset. Or spend a month fending off advances from creepy old men like Sir Francis Bryan in 1537!"

"You know I apologised for that, a hundred times over," Jack sighed. "And as for the corsets, well you do look good in them."

"Flattery will get you nowhere," she told him archly as they paused by the main stairwell, the once grand structure sweeping down to the lower levels, the carpet faded from years of cleaning beneath their boots. Jack caught hold of her arm, holding her back a moment.

"Lou," he began, using his old childhood nickname for her. "I know you've been raring to go for this, ever since old Grumps told you about him, all those years ago but-"

"But what, Jack?" Louisa frowned.

"Don't fall for him. You know it's prohibited," he finished, somewhat awkwardly. Louisa stilled, her eyes meeting her old childhood friend and mentor's eyes steadily.

It was one of only a few cardinal rules for E. T. I. A agents. Never get caught, never fall in love with your assignments, and never meddle with the timeline. Louisa knew this as well as anyone. There had been a few agents who had fallen in love with targets before, and they rarely ended well.

"I can assure you of at least one thing, Captain," she murmured. "I will not fall in love with Captain Nicholls."

"Well, good," Jack sighed, turning away and once again leading the way down the stairs. "We've sent two agents ahead to secure your cover story as well as lodgings. You'll have all you need to complete the assignment and get close to Nicholls."

"Understood. What is my alias?" she asked, falling back into step beside him.

"We decided to let you keep your name this time, except you will be Lady Dunham. Always easier to get in with the military types when you're a young widow living alone," he smiled, wickedly. Louisa rolled her eyes. "The rest is up to you."

"Always easiest," she quipped. "God knows the last alias was shoddy enough. What do those boys drink?"

Jack smiled but didn't answer, as he led her down the familiar corridors of the house where Louisa would jump back in time.

* * *

This day had been long in coming, ever since his great-grandfather, a former cavalry officer and government official had told him of E. T. I. A and the favour he wanted done. Not by him, by Major James Stewart's great-grandson, but by Louisa Dunham.

For some reason, his old Grumps, as they had so affectionately called him as children before he passed away, had always insisted it had to be Louisa who did it, who went back in time and retrieved Captain Nicholls. He had never explained why, and once the dementia hit, well then it was far too late.

And so he had subtly steered Louisa in that direction for years, suggesting that she join the Forces, then E. T. I. A, mentoring her himself. Telling her stories that old Grumps had told him, of Captain Nicholls.

Sometimes he worried that he had forged too emotional a bond in the young Commander. He could only hope that he wouldn't tip her over the edge, so that even her own professionalism and sense of duty would not stop her from breaking one of E.T.I.A's most unbreakable rules.

Although, Louisa had never been one for rules.


	2. Hawthorne House, 8th July, 1914

The E. T. I. A Files: Across Time And Space

* * *

Stewart and Louisa parted in the downstairs cellar of the house. Suppressing a shudder at the chilling temperatures, she went into a whitewashed room that had once served as the scullery. It was only sparsely furnished with a chair, a mirror and a side table on which sat a lamp and a small metal box. Hanging from a metal bar set into the ceiling was an appropriately Edwardian outfit.

There would be more, but she at least trusted the Wardrobe lot, especially since they were mostly female. Thank God, because if it had been left up to the boys, God knows what she would have been wearing…

* * *

With a resigned sigh, Louisa shed her Naval uniform, her hands trailing longingly down the comfortably worn in, smart dress trousers and blouse as she placed them on a hangar. She pulled out the Kirby grips holding her hair in place, letting the long red curls tumble down her back. They would be redressed later.

She was thankful that she wasn't going back any further than 1914. At least the corsets were a little less uncomfortable, and there was no silly crazes like having the circumference of one's waist match one's age. Clothing for women had become less sculpted, and more lithe, more flowing in preparation for the loose, flapper styles of the 1920s.

She slipped into the chemise, underskirt and stockings provided. With a sigh, she took the light, daytime corset just as the door opened and a blonde head poked through.

"Hey," a familiar voice called. Jane Caledon, a friend and sometimes operations partner, and formerly MI5, slipped inside. Unlike Louisa, Jack and the majority of E. T. I. A, she was not recruited from the military. "You need a hand with that?"

"Not too tight," Louisa capitulated with a smile. "I have no plans to faint once I get there."

"I don't know," Jane murmured, stepping forward and closing the corset around Louisa's trim waist, looping the laces through the eyeholes, before starting to pull them. "You know how old-fashioned guys like him love damsels in distress!"

"If you're talking about Captain Nicholls," Louisa sighed patiently. "I'm going back to rescue him, not to make him fall in love with me. That's the rules."

"Rules, schmules," Louisa could hear the sarcastic roll of the eyes in Jane's voice, as she finished lacing up the corset.

"Now I see why MI5 was so keen to get rid of you," Louisa said lightly, Jane chuckling airily.

"You know me. Regular rule-breaker extraordinaire!" the blonde murmured, coming round to face Louisa. "You need help with your hair?"

"Please," Louisa breathed, turning back to the remnants of the outfit. Jane moved across to the small table, opening the box and retrieving a brush and pins.

"You know if anyone had ever told me, a few years back, that one day I would be helping a Royal Naval Commander dress up, so she can pass for an Edwardian widow, all to jump back in time and rescue a dashing young cavalry officer…" Jane trailed off. There was no need to finish the sentence.

Sometimes Louisa felt the same. Some days, it all felt too much like something from the imagination of a science fiction writer.

"You and me both, Jane," she sighed, as she slipped into the boots, long skirt, blouse and overcoat, the latter two items in a smart navy blue with white pinstripes. She buttoned up the high, rigid collar and secured it with a brooch before turning back to Jane. "Ok, let's get this done. One day they'll give me an assignment in a time after ridiculously elaborate hairdos."

"Just be thankful they're not sending you back to the 18th century," Jane shuddered. "Corsets, big fluffy skirts and itchy wigs. Hell personified."

"Could be worse," Louisa admitted laughingly. She sat down on the chair and let Jane brush her red locks in abeyance before pinning them in the Edwardian style. She was quick and her fingers were nimble, so Jane was done before Louisa got too fidgety. She'd always hated sitting and having her hair done. Just throw it back in a ponytail or a bun, _**that **_was her usual style.

"There, perfect," Jane stepped back, handing Louisa a wide-brimmed hat in the same shade of blue as her outfit. Apart from the brooch and some discreet pearl earrings, she wore no other jewellery. The navy blue heightened the fiery dark red of her hair as well as the paleness of her skin. The epitome of an Edwardian socialite.

"Come on, I still have briefings I need to get to," she turned away from her reflection, leading the way out of the room, the abandoned Naval uniform hanging forlornly against the wall.

* * *

"Ahh, Commander," one of the Tech boys, a tall, lanky Scot by the name of Peterson, a former Royal Engineer, looked up as Jane and Louisa entered the room, a tall, cavernous cellar beneath the main house.

Just behind Peterson and the trestle tables which were laden with various gear, laptops, scanners, HUDs, and other equipment, stood the contraption that would send Louisa back to 1914.

Quite how E. T. I. A had discovered the secret of time travel, Louisa neither knew nor really cared. They weren't exactly a sharing bunch.

"Right well, you know the drill," Peterson began the briefing with little prevarication. He shoved a blue purse towards Louisa, and she glanced inside to find the usual 'toys'. "You've got your emergency transport for when you retrieve Captain Nicholls inside, as well as a 'Peterson Special'."

"It's a gun, Peterson. I'm reasonably certain they've been around, ooh, a few centuries at least?" Louisa rolled her eyes, eying the small, elegant pistol inside, small enough to hide up her sleeve or in her blouse, or even in the reticule he'd provided for her.

"Never appreciative," he sighed. "Well, smart ass, it not only fires regular bullets but also tranquillisers, just in case anyone gets a bit frisky."

Noting the magazines hidden beneath her transport and weapon, she nodded. "Who have I got as backup?" she asked, stepping around the table and approaching the seemingly empty doorway, the frame edged with trailing wires and glowing gently.

"Harrison and Jones," Peterson replied. "They were sent back a week earlier than you were, to prepare for your arrival. Their story is that they're members of your staff, sent down from London to prepare a house for your coming. You know you're a widow?"

"Yes, I got that," Louisa replied, slinging the transport around her wrist. It had the shape of a simple diamond bracelet, but one of the faux diamonds was really a recall button, designed to bring Louisa and Captain Nicholls back to 2000 when they were ready.

"You should have enough funds for the six weeks you'll be there. Just don't spend it all at once," Peterson joked.

"I'll be sure not to," she muttered dryly. "Now, can we get going?"

Jack stepped from the shadows around the doorway, smiling slightly at the sight of Louisa in Edwardian dress. As the techies got ready, she drifted over to him.

"Good luck, Commander," he said, saluting her.

"I'll do my best, as always, Sir," she replied formally, saluting him back.

"Bring him back. For Grumps," Jack added in a whispered aside, and she smiled sadly.

"Right, co-ordinates are set and ready," a techie called.

"Time to go, Commander," Peterson called shortly. "Before we lose the time stream."

"Time to surf," Louisa sighed, stepping towards the doorway cautiously, not wanting to trip over the thousands of fibre optic wires and cabling in her new boots.

She said goodbye to Jane who just smirked in goodbye, Peterson gruffly nodding to her as she stepped into the doorway without aplomb.

* * *

_Hawthorne House, 8__th__ July, 1914_

Louisa had never liked time travel. She always landed with a hard bump that was invariably undignified and uncomfortable, depending on what era of fashion she was wearing.

Whether it was Medieval, Tudor, Early Victorian or Edwardian, it was always a pain trying to stand up in long skirts.

She fell back against soft grass, wet with dew. At least it had been a soft landing this time. When she'd gone back to 1537, she'd landed in a puddle of questionable origin and rather slimy consistency.

She opened her eyes, looking up into a forget-me-not blue sky, faintly covered by filmy white clouds. The sun's warmth reached its golden fingers through her fashionable jacket, as she sat up. She was on a bank, secluded behind a copse of hawthorn trees and English oaks. In the distance, she could just see the top floor of a manor house.

Her quarters for the six weeks she'd be here.

She scrambled up, somewhat unladylike but she couldn't really care less. She dusted down her skirt and jacket, brushing away a few dead leaves when she heard a shout.

"Ahh, Harrison, Jones," she said, inclining her head as two figures emerged from the tree line. One was a burly man with cropped black hair and piercing grey eyes. Harrison, otherwise known as Lieutenant Thomas Harrison, formerly of Her Majesty's Royal Air Force, and the other was a petite blonde woman in her early thirties. Alice Jones, formerly of MI6.

Harrison was dressed in the simple, but smart, clothes of an estate steward, while Alice was dressed as a lady's maid.

"Ma'am," Harrison saluted her while Alice just smiled slightly in welcome. "All's prepared."

"Excellent," she murmured, moving forward. "What do the local gentry know of me?"

Integrating herself with the locals was key to the success of the assignment. She couldn't get close to Nicholls if she was a social outcast. As it was, Nicholls was country gentry, and he was local to the area, or at least he was before he was sent to be educated at Eton, then Cambridge before pursuing a career in the Army.

Nicholls was one of three siblings, and the younger brother, so he had to make his own way in the world since he had nothing to inherit. It was quite common practice, Louisa knew, for the gentry at all levels to send their second and third sons into the military in this period.

"That you're a widow, previously from London, seeking a peaceful retirement from the social whirl after the death of your husband two years ago," Jones replied. "And that you're wealthy, and from good family, so the older of the local gentry matrons won't snub you."

"Good. Any word on Nicholl's location?" she asked, as they moved away from the copse, and south, towards a road. It wouldn't do for Louisa to suddenly appear from nowhere, in the back garden of her new residence, without warning. Only Jones and Harrison knew her true origins and purpose.

"He's with the garrison, only a few miles away to the West," Harrison replied, pointing in the required direction. "At the North Somerset Yeomanry HQ. Commanding Officer, Major James Stewart."

"I know who the CO is, Harrison," Louisa murmured, her heart beating faster as she considered that _**he**_ was so close. How strange it would be to see old Grumps as a young man, in his prime!

And as for Nicholls…

"There's an inspection due, soon enough," Jones jumped in. "I was talking to one of the ladies' maids at Devon Manor. General Stafford is being sent down as an inspector from London. He arrived with his wife and family a few days ago. You've an appointment with them at 1000 hours."

"Well, we must make sure to give a good impression," Louisa murmured. "I need to get myself into good graces with the General. A pretty young widow should do the trick. Particularly a pretty young widow with a liking for horses and cavalry officers…"

"Speaking of which, I took the liberty of procuring one for you, Commander," Harrison replied. "A pretty little Thoroughbred mare. Shouldn't be too much to handle."

"I should think not!" Louisa laughed, as they neared the road, where she could see one of those ridiculous things they called cars waiting for them. "I've been riding since before I could walk. I grew up on a stud farm."

Wordlessly, the trio got into the car, Jones and Harrison taking the front seat, as was the protocol for servants, while Louisa made herself comfortable on the smooth leather backseat.

* * *

The next morning, Louisa rose early from her bed.

She had managed to integrate herself into the life at Hawthorne House well enough, the small group of staff tightly controlled and managed by Harrison and Jones. The house itself was a lovely Victorian building, with red bricks and Tudors beams, and a rose trellis grew just outside her window.

Just outside was the stables which housed both the car and her new mount, which she had named Imogen after her favourite Shakespeare character.

Despite her professionalism, she couldn't quite hold back a smile as she thought about the beautiful bay mare waiting for her in the stables. Surely she could get in a quick ride?

And if the General just happened to glimpse her riding, well it would do no harm. It might entrench in his mind her love of horses, and how much the pretty young widow from London would appreciate attending an inspection of a cavalry regiment.

Not bothering to call Jones, or either of the two maids she'd hired on, she dressed herself in the breeches, riding habit and other gear E. T. I. A had provided for her in her wardrobe, and stole down to the stables.

Her groom, a boy named Harry, was already awake and in the process of feeding Imogen.

"Oh, ma'am," he hurried stood from his position, sneakily feeding Imogen a carrot. "Didn't see yer there."

He spoke with a typical Somerset accent, quite sweet really, and he looked like a stereotypical English farm boy with his dirty hands, wild hair and smart but patched clothing.

"Hello, Harry," she smiled gently. "I thought to have a ride before breakfast."

"Very good, ma'am," Harry grinned, already hurrying to the tack room. "She's a right prize, if I might be so bold, ma'am. Looks like she'll give them cavalry stallions a run for their money!"

"Let's hope so," she murmured, stepping forward to gently stroke Imogen's soft neck. The mare whickered and nuzzled into her. "Let's hope so," she repeated, quietly, to herself.

She forced herself to stand and watch while Harry groomed and tacked Imogen up. She was relieved to see he knew what he was doing.

Outside the stable was an old mounting block. Despite the fact she knew she could mount, she was being forced to ride sidesaddle, for appearances' sake. With a smile of thanks for Harry and quiet dismissal to go and get some breakfast, she settled herself onto Imogen's back.

The mare, quiet in her stable, seemed to sense her new mistress's need for a gallop, since she started to dance from hoof to hoof. Louisa quieted her with a gentle pull of the reins and a word.

She waited until Harry had disappeared inside, before turning Imogen and pushing her into a gallop, away from the house and into the woods.

She followed an old bridle path, winding through the woods, the wind ruffling her hair beneath the smart black top hat she wore as part of the ensemble, her hacking jacket clinging to her figure.

Imogen moved like a dream beneath her, and although sidesaddle was unfamiliar to Louisa, she had been riding since she was a toddler. It wasn't hard to adjust to the rhythm but she definitely knew which one she preferred.

Finally, she reached a clear spot, and after looking around for any walkers or riders, she flipped her legs over the pommel, to hang down by Imogen's left side, and pushed her into a hard gallop.

She laughed as the wind rushed past her face, and everything melted away. The assignment, her meeting with the General and his wife, Nicholls, Stewart, everything.

Riding Imogen hard across the flat plain, she felt free.

* * *

**Please R&R!**


	3. North Somerset CHQ 9th & 10th July, 1914

The E. T. I. A Files: Across Time And Space

* * *

_North Somerset Yeomanry Company Headquarters, 9__th__ July, 1914_

Jim stroked Joey's nose to calm him, as the young stallion reared and snorted in distress. Strong muscles rippled beneath his gloved hand as he traced the line of his neck while Perkins walked away. Muscles born from the plough and the hard labour of a farm horse.

As he stroked, he saw again the tearstained face of his young trainer, and could not help the slight pang that ran through him. He could see it too, in the eyes of the beautiful animal stood in the pen, beside the coolly haughty Topthorn.

Sadness.

He had made a promise, and he would do his best to keep it. He would bring Joey back to Albert, and keep him informed of his progress besides.

War was an awful thing. He was but a second son, a spare, and he had seen nothing of war or combat. He knew the drills, the sound of his sabre unsheathing, the roar of a horse's hooves over pitted earth like he knew his own voice, but he had never seen war. It had always been practice, and pressed uniforms, and afternoon tea in ladies' parlours.

His fingers grazed the coloured pennant tied to Joey's halter, and he sighed. "Easy boy," he murmured soothingly. Joey calmed, blowing warm puffs of air from his nose against Jim's hand, and he met his rider's eyes steadily.

Once again Jim felt the weight of his promise, as the slowly birthing trust in Joey's eyes sank into his very soul.

"Scares the living daylights out of me,"

He was distracted by the light, airy comment of his close friend and comrade, Charlie Waverley. The two had been at Eton together, and then met once more when they joined the cavalry. For all his bonhomie and breeziness, there were few Jim would trust more than Charlie Waverley.

"Who?" he asked smilingly.

"Perkins," Charlie explained, if though it were obvious. "Glad he's on our side."

The comment, only half-joking, was enough to make Jim smile and chuckle, as their commanding officer, and another close friend from Jim's Cambridge days, Major Jamie Stewart, marched up, his quick eyes roving over Joey.

"Not bad," he drawled. "Not bad at all. Still, not a patch on my Topthorn."

Jim and Charlie exchanged smirking glances as their senior officer paused to affectionately pat his stallion's head, the black horse snorting heavily and shaking his magnificent head.

"I wouldn't be so sure," Jim replied confidently. "I think he's got potential." As if in agreement, Joey pushed forward against the bar and reared. "He's certainly got the bit between his teeth."

"I actually think my Blenheim's faster than the pair of them," Charlie interjected wryly. Both men smirked as Jamie eyed the younger man mock-scornfully.

"Clear off!" he drawled, pushing away from the fence and leading the phalanx of officers towards the practice grounds. With a shared grin, Charlie and Jim fell in, as a young corporal handed back Jim's cap and whip.

All of their acquaintance had long been so. Jamie was both the elder, and the senior officer, and treated the two younger men as younger brothers. For all his haughtiness, Jamie was intensely fond of his two officers. When he had received the promotion to Major, neither had so much as split a hair at his advancement. No, if he recalled correctly, they had insisted on all but drowning him in brandy in celebration. And so it had been for Jim, when his promotion came, and when Charlie made Captain, no doubt it would be the same then. They were inseparable.

However, none of his private ease and friendliness could be heard in his voice as Jamie briskly marched on, his voice oozing command. "All right, gentlemen, listen here. Everything tells us the same story, from Waterloo to Omdurman, from Picket's Charge to the Battle of Mars-La-Tour. The first attack can and should be the decisive one. Perkins?"

The sergeant stepped forward. "Yes, sir?"

"No excuses, no mistakes. We have General Stafford visiting us tomorrow with his retinue, and I want him to see us in full readiness. Every horse groomed and fit for presentation. I want a full practise charge tomorrow."

"Sir." Perkins nodded and stepped away from the group, already shouting orders to the men as he hurried away.

Jim and Charlie glanced at each other with identical mischievous grins. "Who is the General bringing that requires the description of a retinue?" Jim asked casually. He could see Jamie's jaw tightening.

"Who do you think, Jim?" he muttered. "A bunch of damned ladies. Stafford never could resist showing off for some pretty faces."

Jim had seen Mrs Stafford, and while handsome for her age, he would not have described her as 'pretty'.

Charlie opened his mouth, but Jamie beat him to it. "Whatever you are about to say, Waverley, do not even think about it!"

Charlie sighed in a much put upon way. "Fine. I will not say a word."

Jim smirked, as Jamie walked on towards the barracks, leaving the two younger men behind.

"Or at least not while he's around," Charlie finished, with a wicked grin to his friend. Jim clapped him on the shoulder, and turned away to begin his own preparations for the practise charge and inspection tomorrow.

* * *

_North Somerset Yeomanry Company Headquarters, 10__th__ July, 1914_

The next morning dawned, crisp, clear and dewy, as the company assembled on the fields.

Joey danced and jibbed at the bit beneath Jim, as he smoothly left the line of cavalrymen to join Jamie up front. As Captain, Jim was second in command, and Charlie beneath him.

He supposed they all looked quite a sight, in their dark dress uniforms, with the white sashes, Blenheim, Topthorn and Joey all brushed and buffed so they shone.

Glancing to his left, past Charlie and Blenheim, he glimpsed a group, on horseback, watching them. To his surprise, alongside the khaki clothed and booted cavalry officers, among them General Stafford, were three women in riding clothes. One he recognised distantly as Mrs Stafford, the other her daughter Mariah, but the other was utterly unknown to him.

He could not see distinctly through the mist, but he felt her eyes on him, and he looked away, back to his work before anyone noticed.

"I thought you two had bottled out," Jamie murmured.

"As if," Charlie scoffed. Jim remained silent, although he smiled. The trio backed into the line, Joey and Topthorn nipping at each other challengingly.

"All right then. Let's see what you two jokers are made of, shall we?" Jamie joked, although his voice remained completely serious. Jim smirked.

"This is what quiet confidence looks like," he retorted, as Joey struck the soft earth with his hoof. Blenheim threw his head.

"I'll wait for you two at the Duke of York," Charlie joked, naming their favourite haunt when off-duty.

Topthorn and Joey both pawed the grass, eager to be off, as their riders settled them with a firm touch on the reins.

"Over to you, Captain Nicholls," Jamie muttered.

"Draw swords!" Jim's voice carried easily over the company, as the _clang_ of metal filled the air. Jim drew his own from its sheath, the blade singing as it left its home. "Give point! Charge!"

* * *

Louisa felt the cry in her heart like a bugle call to arms. Watching the cavalrymen gallop across the plain was both breathtaking and saddening. Breathtaking at the sheer nobility and strength of the men and horses as they charged an invisible enemy, and saddening because she knew what was going to happen to these men.

Imogen grew restless beneath her, clearly wanting to join in, but she calmed her with a pat and a slight move of her reins. Her new companions glanced to her admiringly.

"You ride well," Mariah, General Stafford's daughter, murmured. "She looks to be a handful."

"I enjoy the challenge," Louisa smiled back, easily enough.

Ingratiating herself with the General and his family had been easy enough. Her backup had already been hard at work, and Mrs Stafford had already been informed of her love of horses before she had even set foot in Devon House. After that, with a few eager smiles and batting eyelashes, the General had graciously consented to her joining them for the inspection.

She genuinely liked Mrs Stafford and Mariah. The former was perhaps a little old-fashioned and censorious, but their shared love of horses made up for any differences, and young Mariah was a godsend. She was so forward-thinking, a closet suffragette to boot, and not afraid in voicing her own opinions. Stafford indulged her fondly enough, but Louisa had no doubt that she would soon be forced to settle down into marriage and give up her…less conventional views.

On cavalry officers, however, Mariah was very much a conventional girl.

"Oh, look! Are they not so grand and noble?" she murmured quietly to Louisa. "I think I see Captain Nicholls and Major Stewart leading the charge. Aren't they fine?"

Louisa's heart beat fast as she identified the two men Mariah pointed at. Hard to see through the early morning mists, she could discern their tall, lanky figures atop Joey and Topthorn, thundering over the earth.

Grumps had told her stories about this day. She had imagined it a thousand times as a young girl, and now, seeing it for real…was indescribable.

She watched intently as the bay horse and the black horse raced each other, one drawing ahead, then the other, until the horse she knew was Joey raced ahead, and Nicholls speared the ribbon triumphantly. As he calmed the horse back to a canter, and turned him around to face his friend and officer, she couldn't look away.

* * *

Jim's heart raced with exhilaration as he speared the ribbon, winning the charge. He eased Joey down, intensely proud of the horse, and admiring of his speed. Joey's Albert must have been a fine horsemen, despite his being a farm boy.

He slowed Joey to a halt, waiting for Jamie as Topthorn slowed beside him.

"Alright," Jamie muttered mulishly. Jim laughed.

"Nice of you to turn up!" he teased him.

"He's got speed, I'll give him that," Jamie admitted, with a slight smile. "But has he got stamina?"

"He has everything," Jim replied proudly, as Topthorn and Joey stood nose to nose, playing and nipping at one another, almost affectionately.

Charlie and Blenheim rode up then, eying the two warily. Jim smirked wickedly as Jamie sheathed his sword.

"Ahh, here's the slowpoke!" he called tauntingly.

"Nonsense! I was just letting you two have a shot!" Charlie blustered good-naturedly.

"Is that what you would call it?" the older man chuckled.

"I distinctly recall something about his Blenheim being faster than the pair of us," Jim added lightly, to Jamie.

"Oh, shut up the pair of you," Charlie mumbled, rolling his eyes. "You just wait. I'll drink you under the table tonight."

"Where have we heard that before?" Jamie asked, before turning to Jim. "Form them back up, Captain."

His blood still afire, Jim turned Joey around, giving the order for the company to form back up. In the resulting chaos, as the company got itself together, he glimpsed the General's party once more, except this time without impediment.

It was indeed Miss Stafford and Mrs Stafford on their two bay Arabs, but the woman sat atop the Thoroughbred, holding it in check as easily as she breathed, was a tall, slender woman in smart black riding gear, her body naturally swaying with the rhythm of the horse beneath her. A veil extending from the brim of her hat did little to obscure her delicate, pale features, or her startlingly blue eyes. A strand of red hair escaped from her coiffure and teased across her face.

An amused cough from Charlie brought him back to his senses, both of his friends eying him wickedly, as he blushed and quickly arranged himself in line.

"Do not say a word," he muttered.

"Wouldn't dream of it," Jamie retorted, tauntingly. Charlie just snorted and grinned. No doubt, he was going to endure extending teasing for this, for days to come.

* * *

Watching Major Stewart as he politely conversed with the General and his staff, Louisa could barely reconcile him with the hunched, withered old figure from her memories. Her memories of him were so frail, so tired, yet his eyes had burned with a strange hope when they settled on her. Now, when his eyes turned to her, they were filled with a polite kind of boredom.

It almost broke her heart, to see him hale and whole, healthy and vibrant, so unlike her memories of him. One thing had not changed however; whether thirty-five or ninety-five, he was still grumpy.

"Lady Dunham, a pleasure to meet you," he bowed very correctly over her hand, when the General introduced her. She inclined her head with a graceful smile.

"A pleasure, Major Stewart," she returned. She could not see Nicholls, but a eager young man with a happy smile and twinkling eyes stepped forward.

"Lieutenant Waverley, ma'am," he bowed. "A pleasure to see you. Did you enjoy the display?"

"Greatly, Lieutenant. You are all very skilled," she replied politely, as Stewart rolled his eyes and turned back to the General. She felt Mariah turn towards them, and inwardly smirked as the Lieutenant's eyes flew to her companion's.

"Miss Stafford! It is a pleasure as always," he bowed extravagantly. Mariah giggled.

"Lieutenant, I do think you like to tease me," she returned coyly. Waverly brushed a kiss over her outstretched hand, and Louisa, mentally rolling her eyes, turned away from the display.

There came a great shout, and a piercing whinny, as Louisa saw a horse break free from the line, galloping towards them. Behind it, she could see men rushing for him, but it was too far ahead.

She acted without thinking.

Immediately, she jumped forward, catching hold of the horse's lead rope and holding on with all her strength. The horse was forced to a halt, rearing and snorting its displeasure. She kept her distance, let the horse have its head as it reared, but didn't flinch or blink or even breathe as it danced in front of her. Ignoring the panicked cries of her name, and the shouts of the men to let the horse go, she careful stepped close, still allowing the horse its head, and placed a calming hand on its neck.

"There, my lad," she crooned. "There we go. No need to fret."

The horse seemed to calm, lowering its head gradually, degree by degree, until its great brown eye was level with hers. Inwardly her heart pounded, but Louisa knew better than to let any emotion other than calm show.

"There we go, my boy," she whispered, rubbing his face with her gloved hand. As a stable hand rushed up, chagrin and embarrassment clear in his eyes, Louisa handed the horse over with a smile.

"Sorry 'bout that, ma'am," he muttered sulkily. "Bit of a brute this one." Louisa frowned.

"He was just afraid," she replied censoriously. A uniformed man with red hair and a scrubby moustache rushed up.

"You alright, ma'am?" he asked gruffly, as Major Steward, Lieutenant Waverly and General Stafford joined her. "You shoulda' let him run, no disrespect."

"If I had done, he might have injured himself. Sometimes all is needed is a woman's touch," she replied lightly, refusing to act like a damsel in distress. Out of period she might be, but that was just too out of character for her.

"Are you quite alright, Lady Dunham?" the General asked solicitously, if warily. Louisa simply smiled and reassured him. Satisfied, the General turned to Stewart.

"Take him away, Private," Stewart barked. "Perkins, make sure he's properly secured this time."

"Yes, sir," Perkins nodded and walked away with the horse and the stable hand, while Louisa turned to Stewart. Stafford was staring at her like she was an animal herself, wayward and wild, while Waverly watched her with something like admiration in his eyes. Stewart just inclined his head reluctantly.

"Thank you for your assistance, madam," he began curtly. "But might I suggest you refrain from such displays from now on? We would not want to see you hurt."

Inwardly rolling her eyes, Louisa simply smiled coolly and rejoined Mrs Stafford and Mariah, the latter now looking at her with awe.

She hadn't meant to do it, it had been instinctual. But it was done now, and she wouldn't take it back.

Glancing up, she met the cool blue eyes of the man watching her from the line of men grooming their rides, and tried to ignore the shiver rushing down her spine.

James Nicholls. The man she'd come to save.

* * *

**Please R&R!**


	4. Devon House, 10th July, 1914

The E. T. I. A Files: Across Time And Space

* * *

_2 pm, Devon House, 10__th__ July 1914_

If there was one thing about living in another time that Louisa hated, it was all the rules she had to obey. No talking about anything other than fashion and social gossip, remember to pick the teacup up just so, remember to nibble not bite (biting was unladylike), and always smile no matter how inane one's interlocutor was being.

If Louisa heard one more condescending comment, couched in such polite terms that she couldn't take offence at them openly, about her little display with the loose horse, she felt sure she'd explode.

But she wouldn't. She was an E. T. I. A. agent, and she had a job to do. So instead of throwing her teacup over the next officer who smiled blandly and assured her she wouldn't have to step in, next time, and not to worry her pretty little head about it, she just smiled and inclined her head.

* * *

From his position amongst the senior officers talking with the General, Jim watched the young woman curiously. Mrs Stafford had told him she was a young widow from London, retired to the country to escape the social whirl.

In her elegant attire, olive green overlaid with clinging white lace, she looked perfectly respectable and the epitome of the 'pretty' young lady that Stafford enjoyed showing off to. He idly noticed how a single lock of fiery red hair escaped its bonds and trailed down her neck.

Her bright hair contrasted sharply with her pale skin, almost too pale, which only made her hair look brighter. Deep blue eyes sparkled with life and vivacity, and her smile was infectious as she conversed with Miss Stafford and Charlie.

He hadn't missed the tightening around her eyes whenever one of his colleagues mentioned her little escapade with Sultan that morning. And that was what intrigued him more than anything, even her considerable beauty, was her actions. Those spoke of long experience, of knowledge and a calmness which wasn't usual of any of the women Jim had never known, even those who had ridden almost from the cradle. There had been no fear in her voice or eyes, just calm, cool determination and focus as she had calmed the frightened stallion.

He glimpsed her smile once again dimming as one of the younger offices thronging her and Miss Stafford made some comment, and watched her intently as she made her way over to the tea trolley, listening with only half an ear to the conversation between Jamie and the General.

"I should think we'll be shipped out in a few months. Can't let those damned Boche think they're getting away with it all," the General blustered on. "The ol' Kaiser will be sorry he ever laughed at the British army!"

"Indeed," Jamie smiled grimly. His gaze slipped sideways to the oblivious Captain Nicholls, and he grinned inwardly. "Jim?"

"Oh, what? Yes, quite," his friend murmured distractedly, before excusing himself. There was a gleam in General Stafford's eye as he glanced to Jamie, and watched the young Captain unobtrusively make his way towards the young widow who had so delighted his wife and daughter.

* * *

Louisa was just pouring herself another cup of tea, trying to soothe her temper, when she dropped the spoon. She immediately stooped to catch it, but it was already held out to her, in the strong, pale hand of Captain Nicholls.

Unconsciously, Louisa's heart raced in her chest.

That grainy photograph had not done him justice, and neither had her imagination. He was tall, much taller than Louisa, and strong-looking, lean and powerful, all but born in the saddle. His perfectly pressed khaki uniform hugged his strong legs and muscled torso almost sinfully. His sandy hair was neatly combed and parted on one side, framing a pale, good-looking face with piercing, icy blue eyes.

She took back the spoon, ignoring the way his finger felt against hers on the delicate stem, and smiled cordially. "Thank you…?" she asked, despite knowing exactly who he was. He smiled, and she found she was right about his smile, gentle, kind and warm.

"Captain Nicholls, ma'am," he inclined his head.

"Thank you, Captain Nicholls. Forgive my clumsiness, I was away with the fairies for a moment," she waved airily, and he smiled.

"Of course. Those blasted little imps get me all the time," he teased her gently, and she laughed, unable to help herself.

"I'm not sure that's the best thing for a cavalry officer, Captain," she replied, just as teasingly. "What if you should fall off your horse while being led astray by these fairies?"

"Then I would look quite the fool," he retorted easily, with a gentle laugh of his own. "Might I have the pleasure of your name?"

"Louisa. Lady Louisa Dunham, formerly of Kensington," she gave him her hand, after replacing the spoon on the delicate china saucer in her free hand.

"A pleasure, my lady," he bowed over it correctly. He saw her glance back towards Mariah, who was gaily laughing and talking with the junior officers, all vying for her attention, but it was given to Lieutenant Waverley wholeheartedly. "Am I keeping you from your friends?"

"Not at all," Louisa demurred. "I was just relishing a reprieve. I may still be young but Mariah is a force of nature. Tell me, Captain, what think you of the romance I see blossoming before us?"

"Romance, my lady?" Nicholls turned to follow her gaze, alighting on his friend and Miss Stafford, and chuckled. "Indeed, perhaps you are correct. Charlie seems quite taken."

"And Mariah with him," Louisa agreed. "And is it not our solemn duty to foster such a romance as older, more experienced people of the world?"

Jim saw what she meant, and her obvious need to get away from the crowd, and smiled, falling in with her plan. He desired to know her better away from the social confines as well.

With a smile, Louisa left his side momentarily, and then he followed, just in time to hear Louisa propose a walk since she felt somewhat over warm in the parlour. Mariah gladly assented, and with both Lieutenant Waverley's and Captain Nicholls's assertion that they would not let them fall afoul, it was agreed to most graciously by General Stafford and his wife.

* * *

Once they were outside the parlour doors, and onto the lawns, Louisa breathed a sigh of relief. She hadn't been completely lying when she had told Mariah she was hot, she hadn't felt entirely herself since Nicholls had materialised beside her at the tea trolley. She hadn't felt herself since she had felt him watching her back at the barracks.

Sternly she told herself to stop being so silly. She had a job to do, nothing more.

So when Nicholls gallantly offered her his arm, she forced herself to ignore her reaction when she felt his strong arm under her fingers. Ahead of them, Lieutenant Waverley and Mariah chatted and walked, blithely unaware of Louisa's discomfort.

For awhile, Louisa and Jim walked in silence, his boots crunching on the gravel of the walk, shaded by cool oaks and beeches. Finally, uncomfortable himself since he had stepped close to the young woman, he broke the silence.

"I do fear the fairies have got hold of you again, Lady Dunham," he ventured, and her smile was so swift and sudden, it made his heart pound.

"Not quite, Captain Nicholls," she murmured softly. "I was just admiring the beauty of the grounds. They are beautiful, are they not?"

"Indeed," he sighed. "A change from London?"

He wasn't sure why she stiffened as she replied. "Somewhat but it is a refreshing change," her smile deepened and became teasing once more. "At least it is a change from all that smog."

Nicholls laughed softly. "I must confess I have always been a country man," he admitted readily. "Give me the open fields of Somerset over the ballrooms of London any day."

"I agree," Louisa smiled. "For instance did you know that it is looked down upon most censoriously if a lady dares ride faster than a short trot at horseback in Hyde Park?"

"Shocking!" Jim teased, shaking his head. Louisa eyed him narrowly.

"I think you're teasing me, Captain Nicholls," she tilted her head in the air, but the smile on her lips reassured him she was not offended. "Indeed, a good, hard gallop is most invigorating in the mornings."

Jim found his breath suddenly coming short as his mind interpreted those words slightly differently, and he shook them away determinedly.

"I agree with you most heartily, Lady Dunham," he replied. "Have you had much chance to ride the paths around here since moving down?"

"I had a ride yesterday morning, but no, not yet." Louisa turned her face towards the younger couple ahead of them.

"If you would like, I could show some of them to you?" Jim held his breath, as Louisa's eyes flew to his. He reminded himself that she was a widow, and that his offer was made in friendship only.

Jim had never been good at lying to himself.

"I would enjoy that," she inclined her head, before glancing towards the couple ahead of them. "Oh, dear, I do think our charges are somewhat enchanted by the fairies also, Captain Nicholls."

"They must have walked through a fairy ring," he teased her, and she chuckled. He would enjoy ribbing Charlie about it back at the barracks, in reparation for the grilling he was going to endure from him and Jamie about Lady Dunham. "I have never seen Charlie quite so…."

"Enthralled? Perhaps Mariah is a fairy in disguise!" Louisa mock-whispered, and he shook his head.

"I do think you are teasing me now, my lady," Jim chuckled.

"Heaven forbid I should do that!" Louisa scoffed, jokingly. "You look quite intimidating in that uniform."

And extremely sexy, but she wasn't about to say that to his face. Or admit to herself. _The assignment, Louisa, the assignment…_

"I suppose the whips and boots can be a little overbearing, although Charlie maintains such things are the easiest way to a lady's heart," Jim chuckled, before realising what he had said and colouring. Louisa ignored it graciously.

Charlie and Mariah turned back, and so did the older pair, and Louisa looked at the approaching house with wistful reluctance. Jim noticed it, and smiled understandingly.

"I fear I made myself look rather…unconventional this morning," she murmured quietly. "Why is it men think that all women should faint at the sight of a bolting horse?"

"Because most women do," Jim supplied readily, until he saw the spark of anger in Louisa's eye. "I mean to say, that not all women have the knowledge or the fortitude to throw themselves in front of a panicked horse to catch and calm it. You are special in that regard."

_Nice save, Nicholls. _Louisa couldn't help thinking, even if she warmed slightly.

Suddenly, Louisa's ankle slipped as she stood on a loose stone, and she cried out in surprise as it wrenched, and she stumbled sideways, into Nicholls. He caught her up effortlessly, keeping her against him.

"My lady, are you alright? Were are you hurt?" he asked solicitously, as Charlie and Mariah heard her cry and began to hurry over. Louisa straightened, blushing slightly at the fuss.

"It is not too painful," she murmured. "I will be perfectly fine-"

As she put weight on her ankle, it twinged and she gasped despite herself. Jim's eyes twinkled in exasperated amusement at her stubbornness.

"Perfectly fine, eh?" he asked. "Come, lean on me while we walk."

Slightly panicked, Louisa tried to push his arm away. "Really, sir, I am perfectly fine. I will be able to walk well enough soon-"

Jim sighed and rolled his eyes, before boldly sweeping her feet out from under her and cradling her in his arms.

"You are too stubborn for your own good, my lady," he told her coolly, as he strode towards the house. Louisa glared at him, wishing she could flip him onto his back for his presumption.

"Captain Nicholls, you are being most presumptuous. I can walk perfectly well alone!" she protested, hoping that Lieutenant Waverley might aid her, Mariah's eyes wide as she glanced at her friend.

"What happened?" he asked. Nicholls sighed.

"Turned her ankle on a loose stone, I fear," Jim replied tersely. Charlie nodded. "I am carrying her to prevent further injury."

"He's right, ma'am," Charlie told Louisa with a gentle smile. "Don't want to put any more weight on it than you have to, otherwise it could get worse."

Realising she was caught, and by typically Edwardian male protectiveness, she sighed and gave in. The steely strength in Jim's arms impinged on her senses, and she grit her teeth.

Jim too was unable to ignore the soft weight in his arms, fitting so well into his arms. Her cheeks were flushed, and he fought to repress his reaction to the sight.

"Go ahead and inform Mrs Stafford," he told Charlie and Mariah. "I fear Lady Dunham may require a physician."

Lady Dunham would require no such thing, but the tart reply remained on Louisa's tongue rather than saying it aloud, as Jim glanced at her, his icy eyes melting her.

_Damn it…_

"It's just a strain, I'm sure," she murmured, soothingly, for the concern in those piercing orbs. "It'll be alright with some rest."

Jim's jaw tightened, but he didn't reply as he carried her into the house.

* * *

It was just a strain, and it would be alright in a day or two, according to the doctor. Louisa resisted the urge to say 'I told you so' to Jim as they met in the foyer, as the officers were just leaving and she was limping out to her car.

Jim saw the gleam in her eyes, twinkling wickedly, and he shook his head ruefully.

"I am glad to know it was not worse, my lady," he murmured smoothly over her hand. "I understand you are invited to Mrs Stafford's summer soiree in two nights time. May I dare presume we can resume our acquaintance there?"

Louisa forced herself to ignore the flutter in her chest at his words, as his hand held hers. "Indeed, I look forward to it," she replied. With a beaming smile, he ever-so-gently kissed her knuckles, and her heart spasmed.

Concealing it as best she could, she reluctantly withdrew her hand and bid him goodbye, as he stepped back and waved her off. As the smart car pulled away, Jim's hand clenched and unclenched at his side, remembering the feel of her hand in his, her body against his, and he inwardly shuddered.

In the car, Louisa laid her head back against the cushions and closed her eyes. _God, what have I let myself in for…?_

* * *

**_A/N: I had to look up some photos of Nicholls on google to describe him for this. Such a hard life for us fanfiction writers...;P_**


	5. Devon House, 12th July, 1914

The E. T. I. A Files: Across Time And Space

* * *

_6pm, Devon House, 12__th__ July, 1914_

Louisa tugged at her shawl, the ivory material stretched loosely across her shoulders. She was fidgety that evening, constantly fiddling with her dress or her hair, mostly unconsciously.

Jones had noticed when she helped Louisa with the more fiddly parts of her outfit, but had just smiled and kept her thoughts to herself.

The weather was balmy when the car stopped outside of Devon House, finally rolling to a stop in the queue, as the door opened and a footman proffered his hand. With a gracious smile, she took it and allowed him to hand her out, glancing up at the grandiose façade of the house, and stepped inside.

She had given herself a stern talking to after she had returned to Hawthorne House after the incident. Her ankle had been back to normal within a day, but the emotional side-effects of that day remained very much at the forefront of Louisa's mind.

And no matter how much she reminded herself she was an E. T. I. A agent, and there to do a job, not turn herself into an Austen heroine, her heart still pounded at the thought of seeing Nicholls again.

So as she entered the small ballroom, and slowly descended the stairs, as the butler called out her name, she wasn't surprised to feel it leap again as she spotted a golden-haired face staring up at her, in something approximating shocked delight.

A golden-haired someone with piercing blue eyes and a striking physique in full dress uniform.

She really was screwed.

She smiled urbanely when she stopped to make her bow and greet the General and Mrs Stafford, tearing her eyes away from Nicholls.

* * *

Nicholls felt physically winded when he heard Louisa's name called, and he turned to look along with everyone else. She was grace personified as she walked down the staircase, her vibrant hair elegantly coiffed and coiled, exposing the sweeping line of her neck and collarbone.

Her gown was a vision of gold silk, intricately embroidered, her shoulders draped in transparent, filmy lace. The hem flirted with her ankles, revealing tantalising glimpses of her slippers. Her graceful arms were covered by elbow gloves, her neck and ears draped in subtle pearls. He glimpsed the flash of a gold comb in her curly tresses.

She looked a vision, a goddess come down from on high. He'd thought her beautiful before, but now his very breath seemed stolen from his lungs. Not even the stifled chuckles from Charlie and Jamie were enough to jolt him out of it.

"Oh stop it, Charlie!" he did manage to mutter, snappily. "It's not like you're any better, mooning over Miss Stafford!"

That just sent Charlie and Jamie into further suppressed hysterics, highly reprehensible in two officers of His Majesty's Cavalry.

"I'd get in there, quickly, Jim," Jamie murmured. "Howell is eying her up."

Jim followed his friend's gaze towards the young officer, clearly infatuated from one look, and clenched his fist. Ignoring the still amused glances of his friends, he unobtrusively moved across the ballroom to intercept Lady Dunham before anyone else, sidestepping the various starry-eyed mamas and their daughters who tried to ensnare him into conversation, or worse, a dance.

"It is a pleasure to see you, Lady Louisa!" Mrs Stafford gushed. "And so well recovered! I take it your ankle is back to normal?"

"As well as it can be, thank you, Mrs Stafford," Louisa inclined her head, smiling at the earnest matron, gowned in stately maroon velvet, Mariah beside her in peach silk.

"It'll be so good to talk to you," Mariah enthused. "I don't know many here, and most of them are bores. We must discuss the forthcoming march in London next month-"

"Mariah," General Stafford barked exasperatedly. "Not now, girl. These are not suitable surrounds for such discussions. I'm sure Lady Dunham wants to hear about your wild ways."

Louisa rolled her eyes when the General turned away, and winked secretively at Mariah, who just chuckled knowingly. Her eyes trailed over Louisa's shoulder, and they brightened.

"I think your knight in shining armour is arrived!" she hissed, _sotto voce_, before Louisa could say anything or move. She turned around to find Nicholls there, walking purposefully towards her, in his full blue dress uniform, looking strikingly handsome. Louisa felt her mouth dry, and her pulse race, but she hid it behind a slight smile and a nod.

Just behind him, she glimpsed a disgruntled young officer looking at Nicholl's back in frustration, and it clicked. He was just coming to save her from some importunate officer who fancied her.

Unneeded as the action was, Louisa still appreciated it, and looked forward to more time with the dashing cavalry officer.

"Lady Dunham," he bowed, and she curtsied. "A pleasure to see you once more on your feet and recovered so well from your fall. Shall we walk?"

He proffered his arm, and she couldn't hide a slight smile at his amiable formality, and a secret thrill when she felt the strong muscle under her gloved fingers.

"So…did you?" Jim asked her, as they casually walked through the crowd, exchanging nods and smiles as they went. Louisa glanced to him, confused, brow furrowed. "Do as the doctor ordered, and stay off your feet?"

Her mock glare was answer enough, and he shook his head, chuckling.

"My ankle was perfectly fine," she murmured.

"Of course it was," he agreed teasingly, and her haughtiness dissolved into laughter as they walked on. The crush of people in the ballroom forced them together several times, and Jim felt the silken warmth of her against his side like a brand through his uniform. Her hand on his arm seemed to become heavier and heavier, even as he fought to keep their conversation light and easy.

He left her in the care of Miss Stafford, Charlie and Jamie to fetch some drinks, returning just as the first strains of a waltz started up. Charlie immediately offered to partner Miss Stafford, to Jim, Jamie, and Louisa's amusement, but Jim hesitated. The heat in his veins was only growing worse with each passing moment, and he wasn't sure what would happen if he were to take her in his arms. This…attraction waxed stronger and stronger, and he barely knew her.

With a puzzled look at Jim, Jamie courteously solicited Louisa's hand, and Jim was both relieved and disappointed when she accepted. He watched them as they took their places on the floor, and tried to ignore the rising tide of jealousy. This was ridiculous!

* * *

Louisa's dance partner was polite, and obviously skilled, but he couldn't hold her attention. From the moment she had entered the ballroom, it had focussed on Nicholls and hadn't wavered yet.

Jamie smirked knowingly, at the clearly distracted look in his partner's eyes, and proceeded to see how far he could push her. If she liked Jim, and he knew the officer reciprocated, he wouldn't stand in their way. It would be nice for Jim to know some happiness before their lives were consumed by war.

"Tell me, Lady Dunham," he began, as he spun her through a turn. "How are you finding our little corner of Somerset?"

"Very much," she admitted. It was beautiful, but then she'd always known that. She had grown up in Somerset.

"And the society, I gather, is to your liking?" he asked with another knowing grin, and was gratified to see her cheeks flush slightly, her eyes brightening even as she tried to hide it.

"It is acceptable, Major," she replied haughtily, and he chuckled to himself.

After the waltz was over, he wordlessly returned her to Jim, who took her arm with a half-puzzled, half-grateful glance at his friend. The group once more settled into conversation, until the next waltz was announced.

Jim tensed, as did Louisa, but for different reasons. Jim saw Howell approaching with a determined look on his face, and Louisa tensed because she glimpsed the triumphant expression on Jamie's face.

"Better move quickly, old boy," Jamie muttered quietly to Jim, who glanced at him sharply. He just smiled.

With a mental curse, Jim turned to Louisa and bowed. "Lady Louisa, might I beg the honour of this waltz?" he asked, glancing up to her, wondering what he wanted more: for her to refuse, so his composure might not be tested, or to accept so he might get to keep her by his side, and away from the others. It was a ridiculously primal impulse, and one he wasn't proud of, but he couldn't find it in himself to step away and bury it.

Louisa stared at him, at his outstretched hand, stunned. The thought of dancing with him, of being close to him…a feeling like panic built up, but as she glanced at the young officer now standing, watching her with an oddly speculative look, she realised Nicholls was probably just trying to save her from unwanted attention again. _**He**_ felt no irritating prickliness, or rush of heat at the thought of being near her.

"Thank you, Captain. I accept," she murmured, and he took her gloved hand. Wordlessly, he led her out onto the dance floor, and led her around, into hold.

As the music started, the feel of his hand at her waist, the other holding her own hand tightly but not painfully, Louisa felt faint for the first time in her life. This was ridiculous!

But as they swept into the first turn, she felt all resistance fall away, any thought of speaking chased away by the piercing, _**burning**_ eyes that found and held hers. Her breath strangled in her throat as they revolved, her skirts brushing his breeches, the reality of his hard body impinging on her senses.

Jim felt like he was in an odd mix of heaven and hell. Holding Louisa in his arms felt so right, so natural that he never wanted to let go. But they were in public, under society's watch, and she was a widow, albeit clearly out of mourning.

But the way her body sank against his, pulling scandalously close during the turns as he negotiated the dance floor, her bright eyes gleaming, her lips parted and red from the exertion of the dance. He was glad their waltz was silent; he wasn't sure he could have managed conversation, or coherent conversation at least. He saw the same sensual awareness, the same desire he felt, and shuddered as need lanced through him, painful and hot.

It slowly came to an end, and as the last notes of the orchestra faded, so did their dance, and that heated awareness faded as Louisa stepped back. Jim's arms fell reluctantly, wishing he didn't have to let her go, but she willingly placed her hand back on his arm, as they strolled, both content with their closeness, their silence as they both recovered from the waltz.

Louisa fought to bring her breathing back under control. She was an E. T. I. A agent for goodness' sake! She couldn't do this…

Jim was reeling from the need still plaguing his thoughts, and cursed himself. He was an officer and a gentleman, not some callow youth who couldn't control himself! He needed to put some distance between them…

The ball was a long way from ending, but both were contemplating leaving. Louisa turned to Jim with a smile, hiding her torn feelings, and slipped her hand from his arm. He frowned, fighting an urge to ensnare it and put it back on his arm, but nevertheless met her eyes questioningly.

"Forgive me, Captain. I fear I am developing a headache. I'll pay my respects to our hostess and go home, I think," she explained quietly. "Thank you for your company and the waltz."

With an incline of her head, she escaped him, the heat of his gaze pervading her every cell, as she hurriedly said goodbye to Mrs Stafford, and walked to the cool foyer to retrieve her shawl.

Only to find Nicholls waiting for her, the shawl over his arm. She paused, uncertain, before he smiled sheepishly.

"I thought I'd see you to your car, my lady," he murmured, proffering the wrap. "Wouldn't want you falling prey to any fairies so soon after your ankle has healed."

Remembering their joke from tea two days before, Louisa smiled wryly, eagerly slipping back into the more comfortable interaction between them.

"Indeed not, Captain," she teased. "However, I once again have a dashing officer nearby to help me if such an incident were to occur."

"I don't see Jamie nearby," Jim mock-frowned, glancing around, as Louisa laughed. She reached out for the shawl, but he stepped around her, wrapping it around her snugly. Her body thrilled again at the weight of his hands as they lingered on her shoulders, while she grasped the ends tightly, fighting for composure. For control.

Jim was no different. He wondered if it had been the right thing to do, letting himself so near her after the sensual shock of their waltz, but he hadn't been able to resist. Now, the softness of the shawl did nothing to hide the heat of her skin, nor the elegant line of her neck, exposed to him from behind, and he idly wondered how her pulse would taste beneath his lips, how she would feel pressed against him, even tighter than they had been during the waltz.

He took a shuddering breath…

And stepped back. With a sigh of relief, Louisa turned to face him with a brittle smile, hoping he couldn't see the mingled disappointment and relief in her eyes.

"Thank you," she breathed, as a footman appeared to lead her out to her car. Wordlessly, Jim trailed behind her as she stepped out into the night, and he waved away the footman, handing her into the car himself.

"Well, goodnight, Captain Nicholls," she breathed, with a slight smile. "It has been lovely renewing our previous acquaintance."

"Might I call on you, a few days from now? I would like to show you some of the paths I mentioned at our first meeting?" he asked, suddenly desperate to see her again, desperate to know she was with him. She hesitated, then nodded.

"I'll see you soon, then," she murmured. "Goodnight, Captain."

"Goodnight," he breathed, taking her hand and kissing it gently, feeling the softness of her glove beneath his lips, wishing it was her skin instead. He felt her fingers tremble, glanced up to see her eyes suddenly blank, as if a shield had come down in her mind, and inwardly frowned. He stepped back, and as the car disappeared into the darkness, he allowed her name to fall from his lips. "Louisa."

* * *

Jamie and Charlie watched from the foyer, concealed by one of the front windows. Charlie laughed, slightly tipsy on fine champagne, and clapped Jamie on the shoulder.

"Well, I'll be blown!" he grinned, shaking his head. "Jim fancying a woman at last!"

Jamie watched his friend walk away, back to his wooing of Miss Stafford, and then glanced back outside to Jim, still standing in the dark driveway, staring into the distance. He smiled to himself, as he too turned away to return to the ball.

"He's caught, hook, line and sinker!" he chuckled to himself, before rejoining the frenetic whirl.

* * *

_**A/N: Apologies for the late update, but all this summer heat has been taking its toll. I've been having to shower multiple times a day, after coming home from the stables, and I've been too knackered to do as much writing as I usually manage. **_


	6. Hawthorne House, 10th August, 1914

The E. T. I. A Files: Across Time And Space

* * *

_10__th__ August, 1914_

It didn't feel real to Louisa, but then she often found that her time spent in the past was like a dream.

If this was a dream, it felt like both heaven and nightmare.

Nightmare because all of her professionalism was going out the window with every meeting, and heaven because he was so wonderful.

They had talked about so many things, music, Jim's tastes were quite conservative, opera and classical, although he wasn't adverse to the slowly emerging American Jazz scene, which was surprising to Louisa. She had quietly probed him about politics, and to her genuine pleasure, found he was not unopposed to the enfranchisement of women in the electorate, if cautious. She wondered how he would react when he learned that women as young as 18 could vote, and that they'd had a female Prime Minister, once they returned to 21st century Britain.

They also talked about horses, which seemed their favourite topic. When she had seen Joey for the first time, and petted his nose, a strange thrill had rushed through her, as he told her about Albert, and the letters he wrote him about Joey often.

His kindness and compassion only made staying professional all the more difficult.

She told him about being raised on a stud farm, which was true enough, and how she'd been raised in the saddle. Their rides and conversations were always filled with warmth and laughter, as they slipped into an easy camaraderie which both disturbed and allured Louisa.

He had made good on his promise to show her the local bridleways, and they rode together whenever he had some time to spare. Louisa knew the regiment was making preparations to deploy to France, but that was still over a month away.

Of course, she wasn't supposed to know that, but it was all in Grumps' notes and diaries. She had studied them for years.

Jones and Harrison had left, as instructed. They only stayed long enough to secure her cover, then quietly and plausibly vanished. E. T. I. A didn't like too many agents in one time period. More chance of something happening to screw up the timeline.

At least they weren't there to report on her utter lack of professionalism.

As she readied herself for her ride with Nicholls, sliding on the light dove grey gloves herself, she looked at her appearance in the mirror, and sighed.

Why did things have to be so complicated? At least, it seemed, he felt nothing, or at least not since that damned waltz. She hoped he didn't, because otherwise, their path was only going to become a whole lot rockier.

Regardless, the thought of him leaving for France filled her with a painful sadness, and not just because she knew what was going to happen. She was there to save him, that was her job, her goal for years, no the sad thing…was that she had been sent to save him, not to fall in love with him, and when they returned to the 20th century, whatever _**this**_ was, it would be gone forever.

* * *

Jim tried to smile, he tried to desperately, but it just wouldn't come. They were being shipped out in a month.

These past weeks had been some of the best of his life. He had never considered marriage, or settling down; a life beyond his duty, but he did now. She had made him think about it all, and made him want it desperately.

But he was being shipped off to war, and he didn't know what was going to happen.

He reined Joey in, the stallion dancing restlessly, looking up at the pretty brickwork house, with its trailing ivy and rose trellis. He could imagine living here, with her and their children, little red-haired scamps with blue eyes and laughing smiles.

It made him ache to think how much he wanted it.

She emerged from the house, with a smile, as her mount Imogen was brought around, clothed in dark cambric, the black material clinging to her shoulders and trim waist. A surge of desire washed over him, and he stopped denying it. He had stopped denying it weeks ago, not long after the Staffords' _informal_ ball.

Charlie and Jamie had not let him forget it either.

Forcing all memory of his situation and their teasing aside, he faked a smile and dismounted to take Louisa's hand.

"Lady Dunham," he bowed over her hand. "I trust the morning finds you well?"

"Very, Captain Nicholls," she smiled, hiding her confusion behind a polite mask, smiling as brightly as always. "Shall we? I wouldn't want to keep you too long."

"Yes, of course," Jim smiled. "I need to be back at the barracks by one."

She turned to Imogen, and steeled herself for the feel of Jim's hands around her waist, helping her to mount. She was slowly getting used to it.

Or so she told herself.

But the physical reality of his hands encircling her waist broke through her determination, and she struggled not to stiffen in his hold.

* * *

Jim felt her response, and struggled not to react himself. Their acquaintance thus far had been a perfectly innocent one, but he hadn't forgotten the way she had looked at him as they waltzed, that night at the Staffords'. She hadn't let him see any reaction since, but he knew she felt the same.

Wordlessly, he hoisted her up into the saddle, stepping back and away before she could turn to him, barely aware of her murmured thanks over the pounding of his heart, as he mounted Joey.

"Where to, Captain?" she asked, turning Imogen around as Joey tossed his head.

"I've got somewhere I want to show you," he breathed. "Follow me."

They trotted out of the drive, the gravel crunching beneath their mounts' hooves, before Jim took a right and into the woodland. With a sly grin at his companion, who returned it with a wicked one of her own, he pushed Joey into canter, then gallop, Imogen keeping pace all the way.

Imogen edged ahead, as they cleared a copse, the dainty mare popping a fallen log, before Jim called out to his companion.

"Steady on there! Let us poor males catch up!"

Tension forgotten, Louisa laughed. "You and I both know that Joey is truly no match for poor old Imogen here," she patted her neck. "You gentleman, you!"

"Well, my lady, if that is the worst insult you can come up with…" Jim trailed off, with another wicked grin, making her laugh. He loved her laugh, in private surrounds. It was not the polite titter of a well-bred lady, but full and musical, far too loud to be considered polite, but it thrilled him to the bone when he did hear it.

"Although over that log," Jim continued, eying the wooden obstacle uneasily. "No, Imogen definitely has the advantage there."

They moved to a walk, for a time, discussing this and that, especially the blossoming romance between Charlie and Mariah.

"Do you think he will propose? I know it is a bit sudden, and perhaps the General will wish for him to advance first?" she asked him, their boots bumping together as the two horses companionably walked down the long grassy stretch.

Jim sighed. Poor Charlie was in a bit of a dilemma. "I think he would like to, but the General won't be satisfied with a Lieutenant for a son-in-law," he mused. "I rather suspect he and Mariah will come to a private understanding, and wait for his promotion to Captain."

"Is that likely to be soon?" she asked, carefully manoeuvring Imogen around a loose stone. "His promotion, I mean?"

Jim frowned, glancing down at his gloved hands, entwined around the reins. "I don't know. I hope so, Charlie is ripe for promotion," he sighed, as Joey sidled closer to Imogen. "Forgive my boy. I fear he has rather a crush on poor Imogen."

"I shouldn't think Imogen poor for having Joey as a suitor," Louisa chuckled. "He's magnificent."

And he was. The way his russet coat shone and rippled with muscle, the arch of his neck, the gleam in his eye; gone was the plough horse and in his place, a noble war horse.

"I think I have his former owner and trainer to thank for that. He was an extraordinary boy," Jim replied, thinking of Albert. He had sent him letters, of course, but he didn't know how well the boy read. He hoped he was well, and that he wasn't worrying for Joey too much.

Unfortunately, he would soon have cause to.

"James?" Louisa breathed, using his first name. He had told her to use it, but so far she never had. It felt too intimate, and just saying it was enough to send shivers down her spine. But he looked so grave and so removed, it almost worried her. "Are you alright?"

He smiled, as he was torn from his depressive thoughts. "Finally, I get you to use my name. I should stare off into space more often."

"I feared the fairies had got you," she teased him back, and he chuckled. "They are so persistent."

Their eyes met, and once more everything narrowed down into a tiny bubble of time, outside of which nothing existed but them. This wordless communion of their eyes, windows to their souls, and Louisa felt a visceral tug, in her body, as she broke it, in mixed panic and desire.

"Race you!"

She set Imogen off, barely aware of Jim's shocked cry and Joey's neigh, as he set off in pursuit. She knew where he was taking her, so she set off for it, pushing Imogen into a fast gallop, the skirts of her riding habit rippling in the wind of her passage.

"Slow down, you're going to wear that mare out!" he called to her, concern rushing through him. What had that all been about? Her sudden flight?

Imogen was panting hard by the time they had cleared the woods and reached the top of the ridge, the start of the moors that Jim had been taking her to. They looked out over the dramatic landscape, bleak yet with a wild beauty that took Louisa's breath away.

* * *

As she patted Imogen's neck, she felt her nerves calm, and glanced around as Jim and Joey galloped up. He looked angry.

"What on Earth was that?" he demanded tersely. She looked away, refusing to meet his eyes, and his jaw clenched.

"Don't be sore because you lost the race," she retorted, calmly enough. "All those military reflexes going soft, I see."

Shaking his head, admitting defeat when he saw it, he had sisters after all, Jim dismounted Joey and tied his reins to a branch, letting him graze. He thrust aside his irritation, and strode away, resting one boot on a boulder as he gazed out at the moors that had been his home since birth. His family's estate was only twenty miles away, to the east.

Louisa watched him with a fierce pain in her heart. He looked so handsome in his uniform, with his close-cropped hair restrained further under that cap, his strong shoulders and narrow waist hugged by that tailored jacket.

She had been such a fool, a complete, bona-fide idiot.

How the hell could she have thought she could do this? Come back in time to rescue a man she had been half in love with since she was a child, and remain cold and detached?

"You know, I was raised here," his voice pierced her inner recriminations, and she focussed on him. "I was born not twenty miles away. I know this country like my own face in the mirror. I used to come up here as a boy, often, when my studies bored me…"

"It is beautiful," she breathed, looking out over the landscape. It was different from her time, but overtly so. She had grown up here too.

"And now I'm going to fight for it," Jim continued, turning around to look at her, something in his eyes, some intense emotion that both paralysed and chilled Louisa where she sat, as he walked towards her. "We're being shipped out to France in a month. Louisa, could you come down, please?"

Louisa wasn't sure that was such a good idea, but she had little choice. With a sigh, she released Imogen's reins and slipped her boots from the stirrups. Just as she was about to slip down, Jim was there, his hands around her waist, supporting her against him as she slid down.

Her breath instantly strangled, and she was trapped in the burning blue of Jim's eyes, as he lowered her feet to the ground, still held against him, still in his arms. She hadn't been as close as that since their waltz at the Staffords'.

For very good reason.

"Louisa," her name falling from his lips felt like a curse and a prayer, as she shivered and fought for the strength to push him away. One hand left her waist to curve against her cheekbone, and she mentally cursed herself, him and the whole bloody situation.

"James, I…" she tried to speak, to do anything to delay him, but his head bent and his lips brushed against hers, silencing her.

His lips were warm, chapped from long days spent outside, and hard against hers, as he pulled her to him. She didn't resist, her mind had officially frozen the moment Jim's lips touched hers.

To her mingled horror and pleasure, she kissed back.

Jim was nearly drowning in desire. After all their time together, her unexplained flight, their proximity, he hadn't been able to resist. Damn it all, it was hardly gentlemanly, but he was strung too tightly to do anything else.

Besides, he was going to ask her to be his wife.

Her lips were so soft, so welcoming, just as he'd imagined they would be. Her body sank instinctively against his, and he fought back a moan at the exquisite sensation. The sharp curve of her cheekbone beneath his palm burned him, and he dropped his hand to her waist, bringing her closer, so the soft swell of her breasts pressed against his uniform. One of her hands rose to his cheek, holding it tenderly, as she sighed against his kiss.

He shouldn't, but he couldn't resist.

Louisa's heart nearly expired when she felt the questing, questioning weight of Jim's tongue against her parted lips. She was too far gone to deny him anything.

She opened her lips further, and threw caution to the winds. She was going to hell for this, she may as well enjoy it to the full. She stretched up in his arms, feeling her entire body tingle and simmer with a month's worth of unsatisfied desire, as his arms tightened around her waist, pulling her hard against him. He moaned quietly against her mouth, and she shuddered, as the sound set her body aflame.

The pleasure and the heat spreading along every limb and every extremity of Jim's body felt enough to burn him alive. He could feel the boundaries of his control loosening with every caress of their lips, every moan he drew from her. Her hips gently moved against his, almost unconsciously, and he needed to stop it right there.

With an anguished groan, he pulled away from her heavenly mouth, looking down on her. Her breath trembled from her in little pants, her eyes were like two flaming blue sapphires, and he was both stunned and glad to see she was flushed.

Closing his eyes to temptation, he leaned his forehead against hers, and she gasped slightly, their lips so close together again. He didn't need to see her to feel her temptation.

"Louisa, forgive me," he breathed, his voice reduced to a husky growl. "I was forward, too forward-"

"It's…alright. I quite understand," she murmured, and she stepped back. He frowned, already reaching out for her again, but she evaded his arms. "You needn't feel guilty. I can only imagine how nervous you must be about your deployment."

"Louisa!" he barked, hoping to stop her but she was relentless, refusing to meet his eyes, as his heart pounded in sudden fear. He was losing her.

She scrambled back onto Imogen, just as he reached for her again, and she forced herself to smile down at him. "We'll say no more about it. I must see Mrs Potts down at the village. Thank you for the ride and good day."

Visibly flustered, she wheeled Imogen and cantered off, leaving Jim behind, confused and utterly lost. Joey gently butted his arm, and he turned to his horse with a sigh.

He'd muffed it. He'd been too forward, too aggressive and she'd run before he could even get the question he needed to ask her out. She thought it was nerves…?

Shaking his head, he stroked one hand down Joey's neck. "Joey, old boy. Why do women have to be quite so complicated?"

The stallion's eyes held no answers, just stared back at him soulfully, as in sympathy.

He might have taken it as a rejection, but her reaction to him, to their kiss, every blasted reaction to him and his touch she had ever displayed, told him it was no such thing. Something was making her run scared, and he would find out what. He wasn't letting her go.

Nerves. Good Lord.

It was no matter. He'd catch her at Lady Derby's dinner that night; unfortunately it was a mandatory appearance for the senior officers in the regiment. Any other time, he'd have complained and moaned about it as much as the others, but it would be his chance to snag her, sort this out between them, and finally have her back in his arms.

He'd kissed her, held her as he dreamed of holding her in his more innocent nightly fantasies; he wasn't about to let her go.

* * *

Louisa felt that surge of panic dissipate the further she rode from Jim. Her entire body was aflame from that kiss, and she shuddered.

What had she done?

This was getting beyond ridiculous. She could not and would not fall in love with him, but clearly he felt something for her.

And she did for him.

Damn it, Louisa! She swore under her breath, a highly offensive and purely 21st century swearing spree, as she rode for home. She would have to see him again, there was no getting around it. Not even a headache would be enough to avoid him that night.

Dinner at Lady Derby's.

God, why did life have to be so complicated? She had one simple task: find him and save him when the time came, but no, she had to…do _**this**_.

And he'd been on the verge of asking her a question, _**the**_ question, she was sure of it. What a mess!

Slowing Imogen to a walk, she leant her head against the mare's soft neck, and closing her eyes, sighed.

Her body still trembled from the aftermath of their kiss, and she longed for more, beneath her professionalism. She wanted more.

She _**needed**_ more.

Forcing herself upright, she broke out into a trot, determined to get back so she could prepare herself for that evening's ordeal.

Discouraging the man she loved from loving her.

* * *

_**A/N:**_ Sorry for the late update, but Louisa and Jim just did not want to play. However, a lovely sunset ride on the beach with my sister blew the cobwebs away, so enjoy!


	7. Derby Lodge, 10th August, 1914

The E. T. I. A Files: Across Time And Space

* * *

_7pm, Derby Lodge, 10__th__ August, 1914_

When she was an officer cadet in training, she'd had to do a three weeks survival exercise in the New Forest. She'd been forced to sleep in an improvised shelter with nothing but God-awful tasting purified water and what food she could find from the forest, and then forced to run twelve miles while being chased by a pack of Alsatians. Weakened by three weeks' near starvation and exhaustion, she'd then been questioned by officers pretending to be enemy interrogators until she broke.

She'd once thought that had been the hardest thing she ever had to do. She had been so, so wrong.

It was a perfectly convivial gathering at Lady Derby's that night. Everyone laughed and talked gaily enough, but it was all a ruse. Everyone knew or guessed about the regiment's posting.

Beneath all the laughter and the conversation, there was a palpable atmosphere of sorrow and dread.

But that wasn't what was dragging Louisa down. It was sitting opposite the man she loved, and forcing herself to pretend he did not exist.

She had considered flirting with another, to put him off, but something in her shied away. It was the logical, and in the end, best thing to do, for them both; but she just couldn't. She wasn't that good an actress.

She just had to avoid him until the regiment left. When it was over, he'd understand. Hell, he'd probably thank her for it.

But none of that was making it any easier.

Not to mention, she was certain the maid had fastened her corset too tight. It felt like a steel cage around her waist and breasts, and trying to breathe was becoming more difficult.

She really hated Edwardian fashion.

The dress was lovely enough, dark blue silk overlaid with lace in an even darker blue, and white elbow gloves. But it felt restrictive, a cloying, silken prison. The beaded necklace around her throat felt like a chain.

She shouldn't have come. She could feel his gaze on her throughout the soup course, and then the fish, sending little ripples of heat down her spine. Despite her self-recrimination, she hadn't been able to stop thinking about that kiss. His arms, his lips…

Damn it, Louisa!

She made the mistake of glancing up, and met his eyes across the table, fixed on her despite the young lady talking quite animatedly in his ear, blue eyes…_**burning**_.

Gone was any kind of friendly twinkle, the kind she had long become used to seeing there, and instead she saw a morass of confusion, hurt, anger and most worryingly of all, determination.

She felt dizzy.

She wasn't sure how she managed to make it through the rest of the meal, let alone carry on any kind of coherent conversation with her neighbours, although thankfully Mariah seemed to carry the conversation on her own, so Louisa wasn't required to do more than nod and smile.

Her cheeks actually hurt from all the smiling. By the time the ladies rose to go to the drawing room, she felt like a wrung out sponge.

The heated gaze boring into her back did nothing to help, of course.

* * *

As she loitered around the tea trolley, unwilling to let herself be drawn into a conversation about the latest Paris fashions and some new designer from New York, she felt an unexpected surge of anger.

How could they sit there, these women, in their silks and jewels, and just blithely chat away what time was left to them with their men? Were they truly so blind that they didn't know what was coming?

It made Louisa's knuckles creak as she fisted her hands. A gentle touch on her arm made her start, as she glanced over her shoulder to find Mariah, resplendent in ivory and sapphire silks, watching her with an understanding smile.

"Are you alright, Louisa?" she asked. "You look a little…unwell."

"I'm fine, just a little overheated," Louisa murmured, touched by her concern. Mariah dropped her hand and reached for a teacup, but not before leaning in to whisper in Louisa's ear.

"There's an upstairs parlour, if you'd like to get away for a moment. These awful things are always so damned uncomfortable," she smiled with a wink, gesturing to her waist. "I will make your excuses."

Louisa stared after her, stunned. But as the sound of the gentlemen returning punctured her shock, she took Mariah's gift with alacrity. She did not want to be caught by James.

No, not James. Nicholls. He was her mission, that was all he could be. It only went to show how much her brain was addled by oxygen deprivation that the idea of sheltering in a deserted parlour to get _**away**_ from Nicholls was in fact, more than likely to work in the opposite direction.

* * *

Which was exactly what Mariah, Charlie and Jamie had planned. They weren't blind, they had all seen the longing, heat-filled glances between the two, and as for Jim's near constant smile for the past month, it had been a constant source of amusement for Jamie and Charlie for days.

They all knew something had changed. Mariah had noticed Louisa's preoccupation and seemingly fervent desire to avoid Jim's eyes, whereas before they had been quite inseparable at such gatherings as these. As for Jim, both of his friends had noticed his quiet absorption and short temper since returning to barracks in the afternoon. For the first time ever, he had actually snapped at a stable hand when he dropped a pitchfork. It was completely out of character for the Captain, and both men decided it had to do with Louisa, and something had to be done.

And with Mariah's involvement, well it became only too easy.

Jamie saw as soon as the men came in from their cigars and port that Lady Dunham had disappeared. From the slow, building tension in his friend's frame, he surmised Jim noticed her disappearance too.

He noticed Charlie sending a swift glance at Mariah, who politely disengaged herself from her mother and friends, to glide to their side.

"Miss Stafford," Jamie inclined his head. "But where is Lady Dunham? You are usually quite the pair."

"Louisa felt somewhat unwell, so I suggested she should go and rest in the upstairs parlour for a moment," she replied, innocently. Jamie glanced surreptitiously at his friend, and was pleased to note that he was listening quite intently despite talking to Charlie about their drill practice the next morning.

With a sly smile, Mariah chatted awhile with Jamie until they noticed Jim slip away, and Charlie joined them with an equally cunning grin, as she took his arm. She wanted so much for Louisa and Jim to be happy. She and Charlie would have to wait, since Papa would not accept a Lieutenant for a son-in-law, but she could live with that if Jim and Louisa could have their happiness.

* * *

Jim tried not to think about the fact that this was so obviously planned by Miss Stafford, Charlie and Jamie. He also tried hard not think about the fact he and Louisa would be alone beyond the opportunity it presented to sort this out.

He was a gentleman, first and foremost, and he would comport himself as such.

But as he found the aforementioned parlour, and edged in as silently as he could, all such thoughts of chivalry and gallantry faded, at the sight of Louisa, stood in profile against the window, tinted silver by the moon's light, like a fairy queen or an angel. His breath caught in his throat, and all the desire unleashed by their kiss came back with a vengeance, sending shivers of heat down his spine, her gown like the rippling surface of a lake at night, clinging to her every limb.

But concern replaced desire, when he noticed her swaying from side to side, and the obviously distressed quality of her breathing, as her breasts rose and fell erratically against her corset. She was trying her hardest to undo the top lacings, her gloves discarded on the window sill beside her hip, white ghosts in the night.

The words broke from him before he could call them back. "Louisa! Are you alright?" he murmured, rushing across the room to her, only pausing to make sure the door remained closed.

"Can't breathe…" she gasped, not looking at him. "Corset's too tight. Damned…maid!"

Without stopping to think, he reached for her lacings, batting away her hands and undoing the knot she had struggled to reach, being too far up her back. As soon as he loosened it, the back gaped and she exhaled with a gasp, leaning against him as she forced in air deeper. Lust rushed through him, at the sight of her gently sloping shoulders, exposed by her loosened gown, pearly skin gleaming in the moonlight, red hair darkened to deepest scarlet. He was almost afraid of the heady rush of lust, at the feel of her soft weight in his arms, her silken hair against his cheek. Memories of their kiss resurfaced, and all the good intentions in the world were not enough to stop him.

Louisa gasped when she felt his mouth on her neck, against the soft curve where her pulse still beat erratically, as her head cleared and the dizziness faded, only to be replaced by panic and ill-concealed desire. His lips were cool, but in no way could they ever be considered soothing. His touch set her alight, wiping her mind clean, and she was reminded of the night of the Staffords' ball, the way he had held her so briefly, and she had felt his breath on her neck.

His arms tightened around her waist, as he held her so tightly against him, and she couldn't fight what her body was screaming at her to do. When he moved his head to just brush the gentlest of kisses over her shoulder, she raised one hand and caressed his cheek lovingly, just for a moment.

"I've wanted to do that for weeks…" he breathed, his voice low, husky, so like heated steel it made Louisa melt. "Ever since the ball at the Staffords, and I held you close to me while I draped your shawl over you. Forgive me, Louisa, but it's impossible to be near you and stop myself from reaching for you…"

"James…" she whispered, trying to stop him, trying to delay him as tears welled. She knew what was coming.

"No, hush now. You ran away from me too early this morning, and I had much to say," he told her quietly. "Ever since I met you, I've been thinking. About the future, about what I want outside of my career. Every moment I'm with you, it's like I'm drowning and I don't want to come up for air. I want to make a life with you, to love you until we're both old and grey, to hold our children in my arms, and to look at you every morning as you wake. I burn for you. I love you."

"James, please," she shut her eyes, willing him not to say it, even as heat flared anew at his words. She loved him too.

"I know it is incredibly, unforgivably selfish of me to ask you this, with the war coming, but I can't let you go," he breathed, not listening to her silent pleas. "I do not want to go to my death without having known what it is to be truly happy, for once in my life."

"James, stop it!" she hissed, tearing from his hold and turning to face him, eyes bright with unshed tears. Frantically, she haphazardly redid the laces and buttons of her dress, leaving them loose so she didn't have a relapse. "You're not going to die. You can't know that."

"I know there is a good chance I may not return, and that is why I know this is selfish to ask of you," he replied firmly, before striding to her and taking her hand. Unable to move, Louisa watched, breath hitched, as he kissed her knuckles.

The heat in his eyes flared, as she gasped, and he pulled her forward into his arms, bending his head to hers. This time when their lips met, there was no momentary gentleness, no tender question, just heat and passion as Louisa gasped and moaned against his mouth. His hand slipped around her waist, pulling her further into him, the other gliding up her back to curve around the nape of her neck, just dipping his fingertips into her coiled hair.

Jim relished each and every moan he drew from her, as he kissed her as deeply as he wished, enthralled by her eager reactions to him, the way her body moved against his so he was left aching for more. But his honour had not entirely left him.

He still hadn't asked her.

With an anguished groan, he tore from her mouth, holding her back just a little, so he could breathe, although that only made it worse. He breathed in her scent, her subtle perfume and that indescribable smell that was wholly Louisa, like pine forests and wild flowers, and quiet, deserted meadows that were just for them. Forcing aside his need for one moment, he ducked his head and brushed his lips across hers, catching her eye and holding it firmly. "Marry me," he whispered. "Do me the honour of becoming my wife."

He was unprepared for the sheer _**pain**_ that filled her gaze at his words, and he felt winded. What…?

"I can't," she gasped, and then she was gone before he could even blink, let alone haul her back, the only sound left the gentle footfalls of her heels on the parquet flooring of the corridor outside. He felt winded, physically and emotionally, as he let his Louisa go, the exact thing he'd sworn he would not do.

His fist clenched, and he closed his eyes, hauling air into his lungs. Forcing himself to think.

She had kissed him, twice now, allowed him to hold her and made it very clear his feelings were returned. Hadn't she? He knew that desire was common enough, especially in the _haute ton_, but Louisa's kisses, the pain in her eyes…no, that was not mere, common lust. But…

Maybe he should take her rejection at face value and let her go. Marrying her so close to a war was as selfish as he'd said, but…his entire being cried out in anguish at the thought of losing her. No, he wouldn't let her go.

Frustration and confusion sank their claws in deep. Why wouldn't she marry him? Why?

He wouldn't give up. The special license he'd procured three days ago burned in his jacket pocket, and he wouldn't give up the heaven it promised. He would find out why she _**couldn't**_ marry him, and persuade her otherwise. He loved her, and he was certain she loved him. She had said she couldn't marry him, but he, in like ways, could _**not**_ let her go so easily.


	8. Hawthorne House, 11th August, 1914

The E. T. I. A Files: Across Time And Space

* * *

_11 am, Hawthorne House, 11__th__ August, 1914_

Louisa existed in a heightened state of anxiety the next morning. She rose, she washed, she dressed herself that morning despite trenchant disapproval from her ladies' maid, and sat in her parlour reading.

She ached to go out, to escape on Imogen for awhile but she didn't want to run the risk of meeting James.

No, not James. Not James, not Jim, not anyone except Captain Nicholls. Her assignment.

That was all he could be, all he should be. And all he wasn't.

She hadn't been able to stop thinking about that kiss, about either kiss. He was like a drug in her blood, and there wasn't anything she could do to get him out.

The text blurred before her eyes, and she placed the book aside with a frustrated snarl. She stood and paced before the hearth, the movement releasing at least some of her tension.

Surely he wouldn't come after her? No, he had duties, and besides she had said no….

Except she hadn't. She had said "I can't."

That was basically a red rag to a bull. She sighed with self-recrimination. Louisa, you idiot!

Instead of saying no, of giving a resounding and final rejection, she had merely told him that there was a reason she could not marry him, and it was all but an open invitation to find it out.

She heard the front door open, and froze, eyes wide and heart pounding in sudden fear. Was it…?

Quiet, indistinct voices. Two pairs of footsteps, one heavier, the other lighter. It couldn't be…

It was.

* * *

"Captain Nicholls, milady," the maid bobbed a curtsey, before retreating out the door again. Louisa sucked in a breath as he paused, watching her guardedly, as she stood before the fireplace, clasping her hands in front of her.

"Captain Nicholls," she smiled blandly. "What brings you here?"

He shook his head, a mirthless smile flashing across his face, before he removed his riding gloves and placed them with his cap on a side table.

"Louisa, don't," he breathed, warningly. "Do not test me now."

Louisa stiffened but remained silent, as he slowly came closer. "We have some things to discuss, do we not?" he continued. "Reasons to give, explanations to be said, and persuasion to be attempted but first…"

He crossed the room in three strides and pulled her to him, leaving her so shocked that she was paralysed, as his eyes searched hers, before his lips pressed down against her own. Hard.

Have you ever forced yourself to give up chocolate, and then after weeks of abstinence, could not stop yourself from eating more and more of it, until you felt fit to burst? That was the way Louisa felt when James pressed his lips to hers, and like the person who had forgone a pleasure only to gorge themselves on it in the end, she kissed him back without thought. It felt right, natural, their lips moving together so freely, so thoughtlessly.

His body against hers was delightfully hard and full of sensual promise. It was hardly the proper way to behave for an Edwardian gentleman, nor a lady, but Louisa couldn't care less. With his lips on hers, she couldn't think, couldn't self-recriminate, and that was fine by her.

He twined his fingers in her soft, fiery hair, displacing a few pins that held it in place, and moaned into her mouth.

She had known of this man from her earliest years; sat at Grump's knee as he told her stories, promised to save him, dreamed of him for years, and now here he was, kissing her with a desire she had never felt before.

It broke her heart.

"Louisa," he moaned, breaking from her lips. "My love, please. Marry me."

"I…I can't," she replied, pausing to wet her dry lips. His eyes darkened and he shook his head, a single lock of golden hair falling across his brow. "Captain Nicholls-"

"Captain, again is it?" he demanded, releasing her. Louisa pushed back her disappointment, and stepped back, placing some breathing space between her and her suitor. God, but she didn't want to!

Catching her breath, she turned away, even as she felt his burning eyes on her. The sight of him, lips swollen, chest rising and falling raggedly, was too much a temptation. She couldn't.

"I do not understand you, Louisa," he began, and she shuddered when she felt his warmth against her back through her thin muslin blouse and skirt. Her eyes shut tightly. "What impediment lies between us? What?"

"I'm sorry," she breathed. "I just can't."

"You push me away one moment, and then," he sighed, and she shivered as his body pressed against her back. "Yield to me so passionately that I am lost, when I should be angry. But I can't be. I am like a Greek sailor of old, and yours is the siren song I can't resist."

"James, please," she began, but his mouth on her neck made her plea trail off into an entreating moan. She tilted her head around to his, capturing his lips with hers. He moved her back, hands tight around her waist, until the damask upholstery of the chaise pressed against her knees.

"Marry me," he repeated, breaking from her mouth to gaze steadily into her eyes. Her own fogged with tears, blurring his face, and she struggled not to look away.

"No."

"Why?" he asked in a pained breath. He searched her eyes, and found no answers there. Her body pressed against his so yearningly, so unconsciously, even while her mind pushed him away. She was like an opiate to him; he'd heard tales of the opium dens in London, and the effects of that drug on the addicted. Well, here he was now, addicted beyond help of rehabilitation or cure. He leant in again, her red lips calling him like the siren he'd named her, and she collapsed limply into his embrace, until her knees weakened and he was obliged to follow her down onto the soft, yielding cushion of the chaise or lose her kiss. He knelt on the floor, leaning over her, as the new position allowed him a depth he hadn't been able to have before, and he took full advantage, kissing her so thoroughly, she moaned and arched, one hand burying itself in his hair. He pulled back, looking down on her, his siren, cradled in his arms so submissively. "Why will you let me kiss you, let me touch you, hold you? Why will you kiss me back, caress me so ardently, cling to me so, and yet you say you cannot marry me?" he asked, in a painful, hoarse whisper. "I love you, Louisa. Let me love you. Do you love me?"

Her breath shuddered from her lips, and he watched her intently. She pushed at his chest, as if suddenly panicked by his proximity, and he let her sit up. He took her chin in his fingers, and made her face him, determined to find answers in those eyes.

What he saw both saddened and gratified him. "You love me," he murmured. "And yet, you fear it. Why?"

Because it would destroy them both, when the time came, and he learned the truth about whom she was and why she had come into his life.

He leant his forehead against hers, and she inhaled shakily, breathing in his scent, strong and musky. She ached to press her lips back to his, to let all her inhibitions go and just let herself love him.

But she couldn't. Could she?

* * *

"You are an impossible woman, Louisa," he breathed, shaking his head and looking down. "But I won't give up. Until the very hour of my departure for France, I shall not give up."

Louisa opened her mouth to reply, but the clock on the mantelpiece chimed the hour, and James turned to look. He sighed, and released her entirely, standing tall and strong before her, as she gazed up at him, drinking him in.

"I must return to the barracks," he told her. "I never took you for a coward, Louisa. The woman who threw herself before a bolting horse."

She bristled at that. He knew nothing! "How dare you!" she hissed, standing up and glaring at him, her hands in fists. "You have not a clue what you're talking about."

He huffed, a sarcastic snort as he picked up his cap and gloves. "Don't I?" he asked, his eyes holding her so gently, and yet so cruelly. "Whatever you think is this insuperable obstacle between us, it is of your making and imagining alone. Fear drives you, and does that not make you a coward?"

And with that, he walked out, leaving Louisa shaking with anguish and anger behind him.

* * *

He had been cruel with her. He cursed his words as he walked outside, towards Joey, waiting patiently for him in the groom's care. He smiled and thanked the boy, before patting Joey's nose, soothing the stallion and himself.

Not to mention he had taken liberties he should not have done. But he was so desperate, and angry, and hurt by her continued, senseless rejection, that his morals had left him, momentarily. And he was still no closer to understanding why she felt she could not marry him.

He leaned, for a moment, against Joey's glossy side, before gathering the reins and mounting. He glanced back at the pretty, red-brick house for a heartbeat, before pushing Joey on and away.

There was much to be done.

* * *

_**A/N: **_**Loki, what did we say about popping into other characters' fics? I swear, the God of Mischief wrote this chapter, not me.**


	9. North Somerset CHQ, 11th August, 1914

The E. T. I. A Files: Across Time And Space

* * *

_3pm, 11__th__ August, 1914_

James' words rang in her ears, as Louisa trudged along the lane. The late afternoon, warm and breezy, played with the loose red curls spilling down her back, as she walked along in a daze.

After James had left, she had paced the parlour for an hour, refused luncheon, then decided to get out. She needed air, and she needed peace without strangers looking in on her. She had rejected a ride, not wanting anymore reminders of James, and even just looking at a saddle made her think of him.

She clutched her shawl closer around her arms, as she walked and thought hard.

He was right. She was scared.

She, who had lived in different time periods, and fought off over-ardent courtiers and thieves and assassins. She who had gone back in time at the behest of a long-dead old family friend.

And she was scared.

This was so much bigger than any E. T. I. A regulation. Heck, she'd accomplished what she'd joined the agency to do, or would accomplish it soon. She could retire, job done, promise kept.

It had been inevitable, all of it. She had been in love with Nicholls…with James since she was a child. Grumps had seen to that.

But the strength of that emotion terrified her. It was so unpredictable, so wild. It had already made her abandon her professionalism and will on more than one occasion around him. If anyone had tried that in any other time period, she'd have hit them somewhere very vulnerable and painful to the male anatomy.

And for the first time in a long time…she was happy. Or had been.

She could be again, if she just said yes. But wouldn't that add to the sting of betrayal once she took him back? Wouldn't he just hate her more?

She thought all that would happen when she took him back. The debriefings, the recovery, the integration back into modern society. Many agents had to take a step back, if their targets became hostile to them on account of the transfer. Most didn't, but then most didn't ask their rescuers to marry them.

And there was the fact he thought her to be a widowed Lady, not…what she really was. How would they even get along? She was a modern, independent woman, and in the 21st century, she would behave in ways he'd find appalling and unnatural.

Like wearing trousers. God, she missed trousers.

So, she had accepted it would not work back home. But then…would she be truly selfish if she were to marry him and grasp what happiness they might before it all came crashing down?

Or would that just make it all the more painful, all the more bitter, for him in the end? And torturing for herself, tormented by memories of another life, one that would be taken from her when she fulfilled the mission and took him back to the 21st century?

She already knew she'd be miserable without him, emotionally at least. Hell, she was miserable now. It would be ten times worse when he awoke to find almost everything she had ever told him was a lie. But perhaps…if she could have those memories, that happiness, she could survive and continue existing, continue working with just the warmth of her memories and the knowledge that he was safe and alive.

Could she?

She heard the sound of men's voice shouting, and the neighs of horses, and looked up to find herself on the edge of the woods bordering the barracks. A self-deprecating smile lifted the corners of her mouth, and she chuckled.

It seemed her choice was already made for her, and her mind had just come to terms with it.

* * *

"Milady!" a familiar voice called, and she turned to find Lieutenant Waverly riding up on his Blenheim. "Lady Dunham, what are you doing out here this fine afternoon? Why, it is almost teatime!"

"I was just…walking. And thinking," she replied, truthfully. She hesitated, as Blenheim stamped his hoof impatiently. "Do you know where I could find James? I mean Captain Nicholls?"

Charlie smiled knowingly, before inclining his head. "He's supervising some of the new recruits. Have to get them up to scratch before shipping out," he explained. "Tell you what, walk back with me and I'll fetch him for you."

With a gracious smile, she acquiesced, and he dismounted to walk with her, Blenheim's reins held securely in one hand. They walked in companionable silence for a moment, before Charlie felt compelled to speak.

"I don't suppose you would know why Jim has been in such a frightful temper these last few days?" he asked, eying the fiery-haired beauty beside him. "So intemperate, it's almost been funny."

Louisa glanced away. "I might have some idea," she admitted. "Tell me, Lieutenant. How is Miss Stafford?"

Charlie coloured, and cleared his throat, as Louisa looked back at him with a teasing smile.

They walked down to the main stable block, Louisa ignoring the curious and sometimes disapproving looks the soldiers and officers sent her way, while a groom took Blenheim from Charlie.

"Now, let's find your man," Charlie winked at her, and she rolled her eyes. Despite his lackadaisical bonhomie, he was a kind soul. "Really, you shouldn't be here but if you don't tell the General, I won't."

"My lips are sealed," Louisa promised with a grin. Butterflies jumped in her stomach, and suddenly she felt nervous. What if her continued resistance _**had**_ changed his mind? What if he no longer wanted her?

It would make things simpler, she supposed.

But he had said he would not give up. She both hoped and feared he was true to his word.

* * *

Charlie led Louisa into the officers' mess, a long, oak-panelled suite of rooms with wide windows letting in the sunlight. The walls were covered in saddle racks and bridle hooks, the polished leather gleaming. The familiar smell comforted her, settled her nerves, as Charlie led her through, into what looked like a cross between a small office, and a living room.

"Wait here, and I'll fetch him," Charlie smiled. He turned sharply about and marched off, face flushed with amusement. He passed Jamie on the way.

"What are you grinning about?" he asked gruffly. Charlie paused.

"Lady Dunham came, looking for Jim," he replied, as the senior officer looked up from his work, and eyed him coolly. "I'm just going to fetch him. The dam has broken, I think."

"About time too," Jamie huffed, turning away. "Just don't be too long about it, Lieutenant."

"Yes, Major," Charlie rolled his eyes once Jamie's back was turned, and continued on his way.

He found Jim in the barn, rather roughly buffing a stirrup leather, and he smirked to himself before assuming a bored expression and clearing his throat.

His friend looked up, his stormy expression clearing as he sighed. "Oh, Charlie, it's you," he said, with a hint of his old, cheerful smile. "Am I needed somewhere?"

"Why, yes I rather think you are, old boy," Charlie couldn't help but smirk, as Jim frowned in confusion. "There's a rather lovely young lady in the officers' mess, waiting for you. Seemed rather anxious to speak with you, actually-"

Jim was away before he'd even finished speaking. Charlie laughed and followed a way behind, as Jamie smirked slightly as the Captain passed him.

This ought to be amusing.

* * *

She was here. Only hours after he'd left her, and she was here. But what for? To again refuse his suit? To inform him she had changed her mind?

Jim could barely dare to hope.

He watched her, standing in the doorway, unnoticed and hidden in the shadows cast in the declining afternoon sun by the saddle racks, as she wandered the mess room, beautiful and vibrant as a star.

Her walking gown of soft, velvet blue, dark as a sapphire, clung to her slender form, a cream eggshell shawl dangling from her elbows. Her hair was unfashionably loose, falling down her back in a curly mass of fire and auburn, restrained only at the sides so her face was clear.

She paused by his desk, and a strange smile washed over her face as she stared at the cavalry pennant Albert had tied to Joey's bridle, the day he bought him from Albert's father.

She touched it, almost reverently, and then her smile turned misty. The sight made his chest ache. Intrigued, he decided to make his presence known, and stepped forward, clearing his throat.

She jumped and spun, eyes wide like a deer, and he could see that a filmy white lace blouse lay beneath the walking jacket, paler even than her skin.

"My Lady," he began formally. "What brings you here?"

She frowned, perhaps surprised by his coldness, but if only she could feel how his heart was beating in agonised hope. He longed to step forward and take her in his arms, but he could not be sure this was not another rejection.

He did however move further into the room, as she wrung her gloved hands. She appeared, almost…nervous, if he could believe that of his fiery, courageous Louisa.

"Are you quite well, my lady?" he asked, stepping towards her. "You seem a little…flushed."

"I walked here," she burst out. "I-I mean I wanted to think, and I went walking, and I ended up here."

Hope rose with every word. He moved closer, and she looked down, all but squirming with discomfort. She seemed intently focussed on a stitch in her glove.

"Louisa," he breathed.

"I mean after this morning, I…and then I just…" she babbled on. "I'm sorry, I never usually ramble."

"You're still rambling," he chuckled softly, tipping her chin up with two fingers, meeting her eyes, which were wide and fearful, but burning with something that set his own body aflame.

"I just…yes. If you still want me, that is," she breathed. "Yes, I'll marry you."

A wide, beaming smile spread across Jim's face, and he wasted no time in setting his lips to hers. Taken aback by the sudden movement, she moved back a step, but he slid his arms around her waist, pulling her to him.

This time, neither held back.

After a moment, Louisa kissed him back with a fire he had not felt in her before, in their previous interludes. She met his passion and met it with her own, no longer submissive or tentative, but hungry and urgent. Her tongue met and duelled with his passionately, and he groaned. His hands left her waist, to cup her face, before falling to her shoulders, pulling her impossibly closer. She tilted her head beneath his, inviting his possession, and he took gladly, burying one hand in her curls.

As the truth of the last few moments sunk in, his urgency lessened and joy rose, heady as champagne in his blood, and his kiss turned light, teasing, tiny, unsatisfying caresses that taunted them both, but she smiled, with a sudden joy and freedom that he hadn't seen in her eyes before. Tension was gone, the battle over.

He buried his face in her hair, holding her close, as her hands strained him to her. "Thank you, my love," he breathed, inhaling the scent of her perfume, roses and musk. "Thank you for making me the happiest man alive."

"I love you, James," she whispered, suddenly sounding so sad, that he drew back, searching her eyes. "I do love you, so much."

Unable to bear the pain in those eyes, he bent his head to brush a soothing, calming caress over her lips.

"It's alright, love. We're together now, affianced. All is well and mended," he told her, assuring her he felt no resentment over her resistance. "I love you more than my own flesh, my own breath."

She inhaled shakily, and pressed her head against his chest, and he held her with a contented sigh, his joy only lessened by his worry. He felt her head shift slightly, her neck arching back, then his heart stopped as he felt her lips press, just gently, ever-so-slight, against his neck above his collar, and his reaction truly surprised him.

The power of his desire, now she was nearly his, was almost scarifying in its intensity.

She raised her head, and he smiled to hide his reaction, but the knowing, sly, womanly smile, that dissipated her desperation, told him he had failed miserably.

"Marry me, Louisa. Soon," he breathed, and she nodded.

"When? How?" she asked, as he turned and led her to his desk, sitting down on his chair and pulling her into his lap.

"I have a special licence, in my pocket, that I procured some days ago," he told her, somewhat sheepishly. "As soon as I knew I wanted to marry you, I had to."

She sighed, shaking her head. "Of course you did. Go on."

"We only need two witnesses and proof of residence," he continued. "I have some leave this weekend. Marry me on Saturday."

"Yes," she whispered, with a small smile, bending her head to his. "Who will you ask? What of your family?"

"I will take you to meet my family later," he replied. "I want to be married to you now, Louisa. It is not shame, or reticence that stops me from doing this properly, but impatience."

Louisa chuckled. "Of course not, sweetheart," she breathed. His eyes softened, and he pressed a kiss to her neck.

"What of you? Your family?" he asked. She had never really mentioned family, or even her first husband, beyond telling him she grew up on a stud farm.

"There are none, so no need to worry about interference there," she assured him with a smile. "Who will you ask as witnesses?"

"I thought Charlie and Jamie, of course," he smiled, a little wryly. "And Miss Stafford?"

"Perfect," she murmured. He shifted slightly beneath her, and she shivered at the feel of his thighs moving against hers. He stilled, as desire washed over them again, but he forced it back.

"Speaking of which," he called out, making Louisa start. "You can come in, now."

Louisa's eyes widened, as she looked round to see Jamie and Charlie poke their heads in sheepishly.

"Sorry, old chap," Charlie chuckled. "Couldn't resist."

Louisa stood from Jim's lap, as Jamie reached for her hand. "Lady Dunham, my sincerest congratulations," he smiled, the first happy smile she'd ever seen from him. "As much as I hate to tear your fiancé from you, I fear we have duties to see to. Jim?"

"Yes, of course," Jim nodded. With a devilish wink, Charlie and Jamie disappeared again, as Jim stepped close, taking Louisa's hands. "My love, you've made me the happiest of men."

"That's all I want. You to be happy," she whispered, that shadow of pain once again crossing her face, making his heart ache with confusion and longing to wipe it away. "I had better go and prepare. And warn Mariah."

With a smile and a kiss on his cheek, she turned away but not before he snatched her back, into his arms, and bent his head to hers, sweeping her senses away with his lips and tongue. She gasped, and sank against him, hands buried in his hair, as he pressed deeply into her mouth once, twice, and then retreated, leaving her breathless and dazed.

He almost had to restrain his laughter at the sight. Her eyes narrowed, and she swatted him with one gloved hand.

"You are a devil incarnate," she hissed teasingly, as he followed her out.

"Only for you, my love," he whispered against her ear, before reassuming his blank, cool officer's mask, and she her own socially polite façade, as they parted chastely in the stable yard, making plans for Jim to call on her the next morning.


	10. 13th August, 1914

The E. T. I. A Files: Across Time and Space

* * *

_13__th__ August, 1914_

The past two days had passed in a blur to Louisa. The instant she had informed Mariah of her impending marriage, the younger woman had all but squealed with joy and started babbling about her trousseau and how they needed to start **now**.

For all her blossoming suffragette tendencies, Mariah was an inveterate romantic at heart.

Making their excuses to Mrs Stafford, Mariah had dragged her to the nearest town, heaving a martyred sigh at having to settle for a ready-made gown rather than going to a dressmaker's, but they only had two days. Louisa sighed but let her friend fuss, feeling an oddly giddy sensation at the thought that she was shopping for her wedding dress.

Now…now, it was sinking in, exactly what she was about to do, and the rules she was violating. The pain she would inflict.

They'd arrived at the church, a small Anglican place, out of the way, pretty in a sort of dishevelled way, with ivy climbing the ancient stonework, and wildflowers blooming beside the pathway. The sun shone, in a clear forget-me-not blue sky, and warmed Louisa's skin through the light silk of her dress.

Her long red curls were swept up and loosely coiled atop her head, exposing her creamy porcelain skin to the sunlight. Apart from a pearl bracelet around her wrist, one given her as a gift by Grumps before he died, she wore no ornament except for the small posy of freesias and gardenias in her right hand, bound with pale blue silk.

Louisa's gown was made of several floating layers of silk and chiffon, light and airy, in pale pastel lavenders, pinks and white. She waited in the doorway, gazing into the distance.

What was she doing? Only yesterday, she had felt so happy, buoyant after James' visit to her house, when he had told her that between them all; James, Jamie, Charlie and Mariah, everything was in order and arranged. Charlie would cover James' duties, and Jamie had given him a fortnights' leave before they were due to ship out to France.

That had been when the joyful bubble had burst. The reminder that he was leaving, that his death was drawing nearer, that soon he would know the truth about her, that she wasn't an English aristocratic widow.

This would destroy him.

"Louisa Dunham, you are a fool!" she hissed under her breath.

* * *

"I sincerely believe it to be otherwise, Lady Dunham," a familiar voice murmured, from the shadows of the arch, and Louisa jumped as she turned, to find Grumps…Major Stewart, in his full regimental regalia, watching her intently from it.

"Major!" she breathed. "I-"

"My lady," Jamie breathed, stepping forward and taking her hand in his. "If I may?"

After Louisa nodded her assent, the Major went on with a gentle smile beneath his moustache. "I know not why you believe yourself a fool, nor do I need to know. I _**do**_ know that you love Jim, with all of yourself that you have to give. I am no idiot, Lady Dunham. I know that a woman of your courage and morals would not have resisted the advances of one you love without a good reason, one you felt you could not divulge, but regardless, one that would potentially harm him. You also would not have capitulated if such a reason was not eclipsed by such a love that may overcome anything…"

Louisa frowned, blinking back a sheen of tears, as Jamie's words sank in. He couldn't possibly know the truth but he was far from stupid. He knew enough to know what she felt, and how to reassure her. She wanted to cry, to laugh, to hug him tight, because here, now, decades before his death but years after it for Louisa, here was her Grumps, a surrogate father to her since birth, telling her it would be alright.

"Thank you," she breathed. Jamie inclined his head, then held out his hand.

"I also came out to inform you we are ready. Your bridegroom is rather agitated," he continued with a sly smirk. Louisa laughed, feeling freer than she had for at least twenty-four hours, and held out her hand.

"Major Stewart, it would be my honour if you would walk me down the aisle and give me away. Will you do me that honour?" she asked gently. He stiffened with shock, before he smiled, truly smiled, and took her hand, tucking it into the crook of his elbow.

"Gladly, Mrs Nicholls," he replied, before turning with her to face the doorway. "Just remember your love for him, his for you. This is your destiny, this is meant to happen."

Louisa shivered. He would say those exact words to her, decades later, while she sat by his bedside in the nursing home, the day before he died. He'd meant saving Nicholls.

Had he meant something else too?

Before she could think more on that subject, they were inside and there he was, stood at the altar, Charlie and Mariah waiting in one of the pews, the priest in his robe, and the blinding smile that crossed his face filled her with warmth.

James was tall and handsome in his uniform, and the look of relief and awe in his eye pierced her heart. She smiled, freely, and felt Stewart's hand squeeze hers supportively.

Louisa's breath suspended in her lungs, and she didn't inhale until they reached the end of the aisle, and Stewart paused. She didn't look at him, lost in James' intense, sapphire blue eyes, and was vaguely aware when Stewart placed her hand in her future husband's.

She remembered to spare him a thankful glance, his words enshrined in her heart like a warm caress, before returning her gaze to James'.

"Take care of this one, Jim," Stewart murmured as he passed him. "She's a treasure."

* * *

"I have every intention of doing so," Jim murmured, taking a firmer grip of Louisa's hand, radiant in pastel shades, red hair glowing like a halo around her face, her smile was bright as the sunlight streaming in through the doors of the church.

His heart had filled with such passion and awe when she appeared in the doorway, on Jamie's arm, and he breathed a sigh of relief. She was here, she hadn't disappeared into the morning mists.

When he looked into her eyes, bluer than the seas and more open than ever before, he saw a burning love, coupled with some kind of pain, something there that haunted her. He longed to wipe it away, as he realised how little he truly knew of the woman he was tying himself to for life.

He shrugged it away. He was marrying Louisa because he loved her, and if he survived this war, intended to spend the rest of his life with her. This was just the first chapter, and he had years to discover all of Louisa's secrets.

Whatever was the cause of the pain in her eyes, they would face it together.

He silently vowed it, even as he said his wedding vows, her slender hand clutched in his own, his eyes fixed on hers, wordlessly reassuring her, telling her he would always love her, protect her and stand by her, no matter what impediment might attempt to come between them.

Her eyes seemed to promise him something too, something he couldn't decipher, but both warmed and chilled him. The strength of the emotion in her eyes could only match his own.

As he slid his ring onto her slim finger, he felt her hand clench in his, as he looked up at her, her eyes fixed on the glittering gold band, and then their eyes met.

"For all time, my love," he whispered, raising her hand to his lips and kissing the ring, the gold only just warming from contact with her skin.

"For all time," she murmured back, smiling, yet still tinged with sadness. Her every word, her every gesture.

Desperate to wash it away, he bent his head to hers and pressed his lips to hers. He slid his fingers into the curls of hair draping her neck, and she clung to him.

When they parted, the sadness was gone, the pain was hidden, but something in Jim whispered that it was only suppressed, not erased. He refused to allow it to dampen his mood, as the realisation that she was finally his, that they were husband and wife, united forever, dawned on him and he smiled.

"Where is everyone?" she breathed, breaking their shared gaze, and looking around the suddenly deserted church. The priest congratulated Jim, then left unobtrusively, as he took his new wife's hand.

"I rather suspect they're waiting outside. I believe Jamie and Charlie had a little surprise planned," he told her, leading her slowly down the aisle, past the empty pews, before pausing near the entranceway and shifting to face her. "Louisa, are you alright?"

She paused, before determinedly meeting his eyes with a bright smile. "I've never been better, or happier. Thank you for everything, darling," she whispered, reaching up to stroke his cheek. He held her hand to his face, before placing it back on his arm.

* * *

They walked outside, blinded by the sunlight, to the ring of sabres being drawn from their sheaths, and a tinny ring as the tips crossed above their heads, held by Jamie and Charlie, Mariah standing beside her beau with some confetti in hand. The white fragments of rice and dried flower petals rained down on the newlyweds, as they rushed, laughing towards Louisa's car.

At Louisa's questioning look, when they all piled inside, Mariah smiled impishly and informed her she had booked a private room at the Duke of York, for a wedding breakfast for them.

Louisa only smiled and held fast to Jim's hand, as the others all shared conspiratorial, smug looks.

The breakfast was already waiting for them, laid out in the clean, airy room above the tap room of the Duke of York. The innkeeper served them himself with a smile and a wink for Jim, as the five of them sat down, and laughed and talked, not thinking about the war to come, or the parting to endure only weeks later.

Louisa shoved aside all the worries and the thought of what she had done, and just concentrated on the sheer happiness she could feel emanating from James, letting herself feel it and bask in it, if only for today. Charlie and Jamie now treated her with a familiarity that warmed her heart, and Mariah watched her with friendly envy, mind thinking on her own, distant, wedding day.

In one moment of mischief, Louisa tucked her wedding posy into the band of Jamie's cap, when he wasn't looking, so when he put it on, he looked quite ridiculous.

The other two men laughed raucously when he did so, the senior office frowning in confusion.

"You're a marked man, my friend," Charlie joked. "It'll be your turn to end up in parson's mousetrap soon enough!"

When Jamie turned to look at her, Louisa merely smirked and winked. It would in fact be six years before Jamie met his future wife, after the Armistice and the end of the war. Grumps had often told her that it was his Jane who had galvanised him to rebuild his life, to build the Agency and set it on course. Jane Stewart had died before she was born, only four years after Louisa was born, of cancer. The death of his beloved wife had only increased Grumps' drive to make time travel viable. After today, she wondered if he had known all along what her destiny was, where her path would take her.

She knew that Charlie and Mariah, at least, would have a happy ending. Charlie and Jamie would survive the charge at Quiévrechain, and Jamie would stand as best man at Charlie's wedding to Mariah in 1919.

At midday they were obliged to give up the room, and they stood down by the car, where Topthorn, Blenheim and Mariah's mount, Rema, waited for them. They would ride back to the barracks and Devon House, on the pretext of a chaperoned outing for Charlie and Mariah, with Jamie standing in as gooseberry.

"Good luck, Louisa, and you must tell me all about it!" Mariah whispered to her while the men stood apart, discussing a last few things, mostly for Charlie since he would be taking on Jim's duties for the duration of his leave. The younger woman winked, and Louisa felt the most ridiculous urge to blush. "Oh it simply wouldn't do for my maid of honour to conceal such wisdom from me before my own wedding. Anyway, enjoy your honeymoon!"

As the young woman dashed away, Louisa stared after her, fighting back tears. She wouldn't be there to stand as Mariah's maid of honour. She would be back in the 21st Century, to all intents and purposes, disappeared and presumed dead to the inhabitants of 1914.

* * *

She valiantly wrestled them under control, as Jim left the others with a clap on the shoulder, her posy still hilariously stuck to Jamie's cap, and they got in the car.

Jim seemed to sense her need for silence, as he simply pulled her to him, and held her close with one arm, her head resting on his chest. Grateful, Louisa closed her eyes and forced herself to relax.

They were going back to her house, her staff dismissed for a few weeks' leave. They would be alone as husband and wife, at last.

Anticipation and fear coiled in Louisa's stomach, as she contemplated that fact, her husband's slender fingers languorously caressing the rise of her shoulder through the chiffon of her bodice.


	11. 15th August - 19th September 1914

The E.T.I.A Files: Across Time and Space

* * *

_Hawthorne House_

_1 pm, 13__th__ August 1914_

They were still silent as the car rattled up the short driveway to Hawthorne House. Louisa wasn't sure if she'd ever felt so uncomfortable in her life. She felt tense, wary, like all her nerves were stretched tautly to breaking point.

As soon as the car stopped, Nicholls got out, leaving her arms and she felt bereft. He immediately came to her door and opened it, taking her hand while dismissing her…_**their**_ driver courteously.

"Very good, sir," the kindly young man smiled, nodding at her. "Ma'am. And may I say congratulations?"

"Thank you, Hadley," Louisa smiled back, feeling James's hand around hers as both an anchor and a shackle. It felt like her very skin was alive, electrified, until she almost wanted to jump right out of it. The chauffeur tipped his cap, then the car rumbled off to the garage, round by the stables where Joey was now housed with Imogen, until they were despatched to the war in France.

Louisa looked up to her…_**husband**_, the word sending a secret thrill through her, despite all the worry and pain inside of her, as his eyes seemed to twinkle. _**He **_did not seem so adversely affected by the strange tension holding Louisa, and it put her at ease. Shouldn't it be the other way around? After all, she was sure Nicholls was probably not inexperienced, his kisses proved that, but she was infinitely more experienced out of the two of them. Yet he was confident and his eyes were heated as he pulled her close.

"We have each other, at last," he smiled down at her, before leaning into her. "Mrs Nicholls."

Louisa swore to herself she was _**not **_smiling like some loony schoolgirl, writing the surname of her crush in her schoolbooks surrounded by love hearts. She most certainly was _**not **_going all misty-eyed and the sound of his name did _**not**_ arouse her quite so much…

His smile, knowing and heated, made all her fears slip away, momentarily at least, and she smiled back, her lips curving in an unconsciously seductive manner, making him shiver beneath his dress uniform. She took his hand, pressing a kiss to the back of his hand, before inquiring quite primly, "Shall we go inside?"

He gaped at her, then laughed out loud, before effortlessly sweeping her off her feet. "If we must," he muttered. "But not before I fulfil my first duty as your husband."

Louisa laughed, carefree and light, making his heart thrill to hear her, her previous sadness and worry seemingly lifted, and he made a silent vow never to see that sadness on her face again.

The stout wooden door was open, waiting for them as he carried her inside, the small but elegant hallway empty. The door closed behind them with a final_ thud_, and both of them stilled, suddenly achingly aware of their closeness and their solitude. They were alone, with no one to disturb them.

Louisa looked up into his eyes, saw the question in them, and finally back at ease, she leaned up the short distance between their lips and kissed him, cupping his jaw with the hand not coiled around his neck. She could feel the strong muscles of his chest through the starched fabric of his jacket, and the way the muscles in his neck tightened under her palm as she slid it down the tiny sliver of skin exposed by his collar.

"Would it be terribly uncivilised if we…retired early?" he breathed, breaking from her lips, his eyes roaming her body hungrily before returning, with a slight glimmer of embarrassment, to her eyes. It both amused and touched Louisa, reminding her again of the sheer cultural differences between them.

"Oh, yes terribly uncivilised," she whispered, teasingly, determined to set him at his ease again. "But then again, we are married now, darling. And on our honeymoon. All things are permitted now."

"Well, then," he replied, with a shadow of his usual warm smile. "As the Lady of the house commands."

He bent his head to kiss her again, almost missing the first step of the stairs, making them both laugh against each other's mouths as their grips tightened on each other. "Careful, I would like to make it to the bedroom in one piece," Louisa joked. "You must be patient."

Something in James's eyes darkened, and she felt a delicious, anticipatory shiver wash over her. She had sensed a slight edge of wildness in his kisses and his caresses ever since he had first kissed her atop that hill in the woods, the day he first tried to propose. And she was seeing it now, beneath the veneer of the Edwardian gentleman and officer. "I would have you now on the stairs, if I were truly as impatient as my desires would wish me to be," he replied, with a dark grin and she gasped as his hand caressed the curve of her bottom through her silk dress, before she smiled.

Before she could reply, they were in her bedroom, and he heeled the door shut behind them, before letting her down. Despite the darkness in his last statement, Louisa saw nothing but tenderness as she turned to face him, in his eyes and face, as he bent his head back to hers, pressing a deep, gently exploratory kiss on her mouth. She gave into him gladly, sinking against his body, her hips shifting against his as he groaned.

She gave a little gasp, breaking from his mouth as his nimble, artist's fingers swiftly sought out the pins in her hair, drawing them out and letting them tumble to the carpet, unnoticed and irrelevant. His fingers combing through her curls made her sigh in pleasure, the pressure and itching of the pins gone from her scalp, as her hair tumbled down around her shoulders. His hands paused around her shoulders, and she opened her eyes to find James watching her, looking oddly struck.

He manoeuvred her backwards, towards the bed, and she went, curious to see what he would do. A shaft of sunlight bisected the downy white eiderdown and the pillows awaiting them, and she noticed with a shiver of delight that James's eyes turned a dark blue, almost burning with desire and love, as they looked at her.

Her hands searched for the buttons of his jacket, needing his skin under her fingers, and she had it undone, revealing his shirt and undershirt, clean and fresh, before the hands around her shoulders tightened and he pushed her back, onto the bed's cushioning depths, and she let herself fall back, flat on its surface.

Jim paused, gazing down at his _**wife**_, her fiery hair alight in the sunlight showering her…_**their **_bed, the pastel shades of her wedding gown flowing over the covers like a faded rainbow. Her skin, pale as porcelain, called and he impatiently took off his boots, socks and garters, before freeing himself of his jacket and shirt, ruffling his hair in the process as he dragged the linen over his head. When he emerged from the mass of fabric, she was still lying there before him, patient, real, very much not a dream his feverish imagination conjured to soothe his need.

"You must allow me to paint you thus, one day," he breathed, taking another step towards the bed, loosening his belt as she smiled slowly, beatific as an angel.

"Alright," she murmured softly. "One day."

"You're so beautiful," he replied, already fighting a losing battle to go to her, determined to enshrine the moment, the image of her in her wedding gown, hair aflame in the sunlight, against the pure white of the eiderdown, but his need was too urgent to be denied any more. With a groan, he swiftly came down to the bed, pressing himself down, partially atop her, as she moaned and reached for him, bringing him to her lips, one of her hands buried in his hair, the other clasping his lower back so as to pull him down atop her fully. Even still largely clothed, both felt the heat of the other's skin, and they both wanted more.

"Let me up," she gasped, pushing gently at his chest. He let her, watching her intently to see what she would do, so confident in this arena where he was still uncertain, still unsure he would not frighten her or hurt her. She sat up, presenting her back to him, pulling her ruffled red curls over one shoulder. "Help me with all these layers."

Obediently, he raised his hands to the laces of her gown, his eager fingers untying the knots quickly, before he leant in to press a kiss against her shoulder as he gently drew the soft fabric down her arms. She shivered, shaking her arms loose, before guiding his hands to the fastenings on her corset, breathing out in relief when she felt the constriction on her lungs ease.

Jim's fingers danced caresses all the way up her arms, his lips brushing the line of her shoulder and neck desirously. "I've dreamed of you, like this," he admitted, almost shyly, making her smile. "In my arms, completely mine."

"I'll always be yours," she promised him, turning to catch his eye over her shoulder. Ensnaring his hand with hers, she drew it down and placed it on her breast, cupping his hand around the sensitive mound. His breath hitched, as his grip firmed, making her gasp as his lips caught hers in a searching, passionate kiss.

After that, their lovemaking descended into a blur of sensations and soft sighs against heated skin. He hitched her leg over his hip, lying against him on her side rather than beneath him, and slowly slid into her, watching devotedly as her eyes widened, the exquisite sapphire blue of her eyes crystallising to silver, as her lips parted on a sigh. The heat of her around him felt exquisite and he was trembling all over, as her hands slid over him to calm him. Their lips met again, one of his hands sliding deep into her fiery curls, the other gently holding her hip.

He felt like an inexperienced schoolboy again, in her arms, desperate to please. As he thrust into her, slowly but firmly, she gasped into their kiss and tightened around him. He could feel her racing heartbeat against his own.

She broke from their kiss, pressing her forehead to his as she undulated her hips into him, drawing a pleasured groan from him. "You won't hurt me, you won't break me," she told him firmly, as he stroked her hair back from her face. "Just let go."

He didn't need any more encouragement, even as he silently vowed never to do any of the things she had just said. His grip on her hip firmed, and he thrust harder, as she gasped and moaned, her entire body arching into him. Her nails flexed into his back with every thrust, and the slight pain only made him love her harder, faster, mimicking the desperate commands falling from her lips. In that moment, she held more power over him than any Army officer.

Their honeymoon passed in a haze of contentment and bliss. Every day, Jim learned more about his new bride, and in return for her trust, he eagerly gave more of himself.

They rode every day, taking Imogen and Joey on rides that easily lasted all day, stopping to eat in small inns along the way, and eagerly returning to their home before sundown. As for the nights, they became explorations in passion and desire, as Louisa coaxed more and more of Jim's desires to the forefront of his mind, letting him know that nothing he did would shock or frighten her. She enticed and teased him, like the true minx she was, and he loved her more every day.

Jamie and Charlie dined with them twice weekly, and on those nights after his friends left them, he always held Louisa that much closer, and she him. As much as they enjoyed the company of their friends, it reminded him that their heaven could not last. The war was coming, ever closer, like a black spectre on the horizon.

Mrs Stafford and Mariah came with the two officers one night, and although the matron was somewhat disapproving over the haste of his and Louisa's marriage, she patted his arm and told him she quite understood his reasons for privacy, with a pointed look in Louisa's direction, talking animatedly to Jamie and Mariah by the hearth.

He had flushed at that, as the matron nodded primly to him, and engaged Charlie in a discussion about lace, the poor fellow. Her insinuation about Louisa, or rather her condition, made him faintly embarrassed as a true gentleman should. No man liked the honour of their lady impugned by idle gossip but…the thought of Louisa, with _**his **_child, sent a surge of desire through him.

He took a swig of brandy, trying to ignore the knowing look in Jamie's eyes as the elder man looked at him across the room.

It also made the coming separation harder to bear.

* * *

_North Somerset Yeomanry HQ, 2 pm, 18__th__ September 1914_

Two days after their dinner with Mrs Stafford, Jim returned to duty.

It was sobering, making the past few weeks almost feel like a dream. Very soon, he and Joey would be hundreds of miles from Louisa and their home, from everything they had ever known. For the first time, Jim doubted his ability to do his job, to perform the task he had to, and lead his men.

If only for Louisa's sake. He could barely think of leaving her.

It was a clear, sunny afternoon, and while all his duties for the day were done, he was almost loath to return home. To return to Hawthorne House would mean the day was drawing to a close, and then tomorrow…he would be on his way to France.

In an attempt to soothe himself, he drew out his sketchbook from his desk drawer, opening the leather folder to a drawing he was working on of Joey. He'd had the idea to send it to Albert, to see how well Joey was under his care. It would be at least some comfort to the boy, he hoped.

As he filled in some of the shading, and worked on the tricky shape of Joey's ears, he thought back to the curious expression that had crossed Louisa's face when he told her the drawing was for Albert, after explaining who he was. There was still so much he did not know about her.

She had become withdrawn, quiet and serious, during their last week of solitude together. Sometimes, he could not find her in the house only to discover she had been out on Imogen without him. Despite the instinctive need to know what was wrong, he gave her space.

Tonight, he would make sure she stopped all this silly distancing of herself from him. He would return, he would come back to her. No Fritz or damned bullet would keep him from her. And he had his promise to Albert…

Just then, he heard the door to the officers' mess open and Jamie walked in, to pour himself some brandy from the decanter. "What are you up to?" he asked.

"I'm writing a letter," Jim replied, bending back over his drawing. It was almost done, just some more shading to do. He would have time to paint it before they were deployed, but he hoped Albert would appreciate it all the same.

"With a picture in it?" Jamie frowned questioningly, placing the decanter back and rounding Jim's desk to look at his work more closely.

"It's to the boy who owned Joey," Jim explained. "I want to show him how wonderful he's looking."

"Before we take him across the Channel to face a million German guns," Jamie muttered dryly, and Jim bristled slightly at the reminder.

"Yes, before that," he replied shortly, as Jamie knocked back his brandy.

"4:00 am started tomorrow," the senior officer continued, turning away from Jim to stare out their window at the men and horses contemplatively. "Travelling with the Dragoon Guards and the Royals. Transport detachment, they need to be at the dock at 5:00 am to check all the kit. Battle orders, no polishing. Buttons, helmet buckles, stirrup irons, let them all go dull. I don't want anything to flash in the sun and give us away."

"Of course," Jim nodded, torn from his drawing by the stark reminder, delivered in Jamie's stern tones, of their deployment. He needed to make sure his kit was all in order before he returned home tonight, just to make sure. His manservant was good enough, but he just wanted to make certain he had everything he needed.

At that moment, Charlie came, stubbing out his cigarette in the ashtray. "Charlie," Jamie inclined his head and moved away, as Charlie acknowledged them both cheerily enough.

"What do you think of the new cap?" the slightly inane question had Jim looking up from his drawing once more, as he stared at the younger man incredulously. "Silk lining. I quite like it," Charlie continued, with a nervous smile. Good old Charlie, always trying to defuse the tension.

"I'm not sure it's going to make a lot of difference to the Germans," he pointed out, as Charlie sat down and exchanged a glance with Jamie.

"Oh, I don't know about that. Think about it, you're a Boche, just working out which of two chaps to shoot, and you thought, "Good Lord, one of them is really wearing a very stylish cap indeed!" You might shoot the other one instead."

"Or alternatively think I fancy that cap, and kill you first of all," Jim returned dryly, as Charlie sighed, taking his cap off in defeat.

"Hadn't thought of that," he admitted, tossing it aside. "You're in a glum mood, Jim. Thought you'd be raring to go after all this waiting."

"I am," Jim replied, feeling Jamie's gaze watching him intently. "Or I was. Things are…somewhat different now."

"You'll return to Louisa hale and whole by Christmas," Jamie replied, clapping him on the shoulder. "Men always fight the harder when they have something to fight for beyond King and Country."

"Careful, Jamie," Jim quipped. "That almost sounded like treason."

"Dear Lord, is our dear, trenchantly loyal Commanding officer, he of the stiff upper lip and stone heart, finally believing in the power of _amour_?" Charlie quipped. "He'll be quoting Shakespeare next."

"Brevity is the soul of wit," Jamie countered wryly, with an amused glare at the younger officer, making Jim chuckle as he returned to his drawing, distracted from his worries for a moment.

* * *

_Hawthorne House, 2 am, 19 September 1914_

Later that night, he felt Louisa slip from his arms, and slip on her robe. Glancing at the small clock on the mantelpiece in their bedroom, he saw it was nearly 2:00 am, and sighed. He needed to report to the barracks soon.

"I'll make you some tea," Louisa breathed. "No need to wake the servants."

Joey was once more at the barracks, rather than stabled with Imogen, so there was no need for them to wake anyone except their driver when Jim was ready to leave. Sighing, he dressed in his uniform, leaving off the jacket until he was ready to leave, knotting his tie only loosely as he followed Louisa down to the kitchen.

Watching her as she lit the stove, reaching for the large black kettle, he felt a surge of desire rush through him. She hadn't wanted to tire him out before he left so they had just slept together in each other's arms, but now he _**needed**_ her one last time, before he left.

He was across the kitchen and behind her before he really had any time to think. His arms slid around her waist, pulling her back against him as his lips hungrily devoured the bare flesh of her neck. "James?" her gasped question didn't deter him, as he wondered if she would push him away.

"Please," he breathed. "One last time."

She capitulated with a desperate moan, turning in his arms with a suddenness that took his breath away. She needed him with all her soul, and he sensed that surge of emotion. He hauled her against him, their mouths exploring and caressing fervently, as he picked her up in his arms and took her to the scrubbed wooden table behind them, setting her down on it. He moved her thighs apart gently and stepped between them, his lips never leaving hers.

This was hardly gentlemanly behaviour, but the urgency in his body, and in hers, could not be denied. He needed her now. They had no time to repair to the civilised privacy of their bedchamber, as they always had before. Time was against them now.

His fingers scrabbled over the fastenings of his riding breeches, fumbling slightly in their blind need. They still hadn't broken their kiss, still hadn't let themselves breathe.

Her fingers, shaking as much as his, pull his away and undo his belt and his breeches, breaking their kiss to look down. Freed from their airless, unbreakable kiss, he mouthed along her neck, pulling at the tie of her robe and the neckline of her nightgown to find her breast, dipping his head to take it into his mouth. She moaned above him, hands clasping his head, fingers buried in his hair, and he pushed her back, pulling his shirt open and reaching for the neck of her nightgown. She beat him to it, pulling it down, freeing her arms, until the diaphanous white material bunched at her waist, her robe crushed beneath her.

Half-clothed and nearly mad with need, he pinned her wrists to the wooden surface of the table, watching her writhe underneath him as her bare legs rose to clasp his hips, pulling him into her. He shuddered and moaned when he felt her heat encompass him, so warm and wet, using his grip on her wrists as leverage to thrust into her, her breasts crushed against his chest with every movement.

"We have to be quiet," Louisa gasped out. "The staff…"

A primal creature inside of Jim alternately growled at the thought of anyone seeing her like this except for himself, or that he didn't care if they heard. He loved his wife, he needed her and he'd damn well have her, and she felt the same. Nonetheless…

"We'll be quiet," he growled huskily, releasing her wrists to kiss her, stilling within her as she moaned quietly and tried to buck her hips into him entreatingly. Ignoring her despite the insistent throbbing inside him, he left her lips, laving her neck and collarbone devotedly, savouring her taste as she lay limp beneath him. He left marks of his passion across her breasts, but she didn't complain, just moaned and gasped his name, biting her swollen lower lip. He held her waist in his hands as she writhed beneath him, dragging his mouth down the length of it, until he was forced to straighten.

Slipping from her, he pulled her up to kiss him, swallowing her moan of loss and disappointment, before spinning her around and placing her hands on the table, his hands leaving hers to rise to the juncture of her legs, caressing her there as she'd taught him to, while he gently slid back into her, holding her against him tightly. Their lips met again, clumsily at first until they adjusted, breathing in the others moans and gasps, until he felt his release upon him. He cried out into her mouth, as she held him tightly, his hand still relentlessly caressing and stroking her swollen body until she too cried out, collapsing limply into his arms.

"Forgive me," he breathed in the quiet aftermath. "I don't know what came over me…"

"Never apologise. Not for that, it was glorious," she replied firmly, placing a finger over his lips to silence him. A hint of his usual wicked smile returned as he gently bit her fingertip, kissing away the pain when she gasped.

"Careful, my love. My pride might become too inflated with such high praise," he quipped, making her smile. She quickly made herself decent, then him, her hands covering his naked flesh reluctantly, before leaning up on the tips of her toes to kiss him.

"Go and ready yourself. I'll have tea waiting for you," she told him, urging him away. He left her unwillingly, and by the time she returned to their bedchamber to wash herself and dress a little more decently, he was ready.

When they returned downstairs, some of the staff had awoken anyway, but he saw no indication they had heard their master and mistress's little interlude in the kitchen. They said their farewells respectfully, then left the two alone while Hadley waited with the car.

"Good luck, my love," she held him to her tightly, her hand in his hair. "I won't say goodbye."

"I will come back, Louisa," he breathed in her ear. "I love you so much. These past few weeks have been a dream to me."

But now it was time to wake up.

"Believe that I will come back, Louisa," he told her as he drew back from their embrace.

"I know you will," she replied fiercely, a certainty in his that both warmed and confused him. Her hand cupped his cheek, as a sadness, that same one he'd seen before and vowed to obliterate, was reborn in her eyes though no tears fell. "But things will never be the same. You will not be the same."

And with that she kissed him, cutting off all reply as he held her tightly to him, relishing her warm, loving mouth and lips, her soft hair and yielding body he now knew so well, and wanted to know again. He would know her, would love her again. He vowed it then and there.

Realising that time was drawing on, he drew away reluctantly, raising Louisa's hand and kissing her knuckles tenderly, brushing them over the cool band of her wedding ring. She squeezed his hand, then let it drop, stepping back as a steely, cool façade suddenly appeared, like a mask over her true features but he let it fall. She didn't want to look weak in front of him, and he understood that urge.

With one final kiss, he turned and walked away, every step harder than the last, refusing to look back until the last moment, from the car as it pulled away down the drive, seeing her silhouetted by the light from the house, in the doorway, tall, beautiful and so very much his.

His promise of light and life and love. He would return.

* * *

Louisa watched him go, before she turned aside, letting a footman close the door. As she ascended the stairs, she thrust her feelings away, into a nice little compartment in her brain.

Her mission was almost at an end. Now she needed to finish up here, and then she would go to France.

She locked her feelings away beneath a cold, calm mask, as she bid goodbye to Imogen, sold at a bargain price to a farmer named Narracott. She would be well-cared for there, under Albert's attentions.

Soon, the staff would be dismissed, as soon as the regiment had left for France, and then she would follow.

After all these years, her task was nearly at its end. _For you, Grumps…_

* * *

_To be continued..._


End file.
